


We're All Liars

by LoliTurk



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 80,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23759935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoliTurk/pseuds/LoliTurk
Summary: Put on the right mask and you can become anything you wish to be; a fearless hero that can save anyone, or a monster that feels nothing. But at what point does the mask start to suffocate?Tim Drake goes undercover at a nightclub to track down the mysterious Red Hood and bumps into a charming stranger in a leather jacket who seems to know a little too much. He tries to find the truth behind the smoke and lies. Can he save Jason from himself, or will Robin become one more victim on his list?Rated M for canon typical violence and smut in later chapters.
Relationships: Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 42
Kudos: 265





	1. Chapter 1

The Blue Butterfly was not on Jason’s list of best places to party. Deafening pop music blasted over the speakers while a DJ tried to hype up a crowd that was too drunk to care. The girl dealing XTC in the corner was a problem, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a crap at the moment. He was hanging out at the bar, knocking back a few drinks as he waited for a weapons contact that should have been here twenty minutes ago. 

While there was something nostalgic about being back in Gotham after all these years, it was like seeing a parent fresh out of rehab. So good to see them sober but you knew that relapse was just around the corner. Enjoy it while it lasts, because tomorrow you’ll find them face-down in a toilet again. 

He ordered one last drink when he noticed something ugly brewing in a vinyl booth. 

A creep was trying to feel up a boy not even old enough to drink. The teen was uncomfortable, probably just here for a good time before this parasite showed up. His hand was resting over a glass of cranberry juice as he tried to tune out the breathing on his neck. He would inch away and the creep would follow. Jason read the man’s lips as he offered him a stronger drink, making obscene comments on how tight the boy’s shirt was before trying to touch the hem. The boy recoiled as the man laughed at his protests. Jason  _ snapped. _

The former Robin crossed the room in an instant, wearing his brightest fake smile as he said “ _ There _ you are, I was looking all over for you!” The boy was confused as an arm wrapped around his as Jason pulled him to his feet. “C’mon, were gonna be late for Tommy’s party.“ He said with a wink. 

The creep would be damned if he let the prettiest lay all night be snatched up by some jock. “I don’t think Baby wants to leave just yet...” He said, grabbing the boy's wrist too tightly.

The argument died the moment Jason pressed a gun against his throat.

“Really? ‘Cause I think you need to sit back down and rethink your life choices.” Jason sneered and tacked on another threat for good measure, “While you still have one _._ ” Honestly he hoped the creep would push back and give him the excuse to blast his brains out. Instead, all of his confidence evaporated the moment he was in danger. The man sat down, suddenly looking a lot smaller than he did a few minutes ago. It was the same story he had seen a million times; sexually assaulting a minor was no big deal, but the minute _he_ was in danger… Oh no, that was _scary_. Disgusting.

He holstered his gun and led the boy out to the parking lot, the crowd getting the hell out of his way. The air was cooler out here and he was thankful to be away from the noise. “Thank you for helping me, mister-?” The teen asked sheepishly, not sure if he was really safe yet. At least the last stranger didn’t have a gun. 

Jason gave him a quick once-over. The boy was  _ way  _ too young to be here and never should have made it past the bouncers. Hell, it was a school night, kid should be in bed. “It's Jason, and what’s your name? Your real one I mean.” He asked.

The boy's movements were more than just a nervous reaction, from the way he stepped out of reach the moment he was let go. He had the same paranoid scanning that was beaten into Jason since the moment he started living on the streets. Always have an escape plan, never be alone with someone you don't know, and rarely be alone with people you  _ do _ know. Poor thing had to be a runway. 

The boy didn’t like being looked at so closely, his fingers fidgeting with a lock of black hair to avoid meeting his eyes. He was wearing dark eyeliner and Jason caught the briefest flash of sky blue eyes when he glanced up. “...It’s Tim.” He replied softly. 

Jason pulled out a business card he had snagged from a Chinese restaurant and hastily scribbled a phone number on the back. “Whatever that guy was going to pay you, it’s not worth it. There’s a free clinic down the-” He gestured to a place off in the distance when Tim’s eyes went wide. 

He panicked, stuttering “Wha-wait a minute, you think I’m-? I’m not a rent boy!” He shouted too loudly in embarrassment.

It was Jason's turn to be flustered. His mouth turned into a thin line as he realized that 'underage prostitution' should not be the first place his brain leaps to when finding a teenager in a nightclub. "Don't you know what kind of scum hangs out in a place like that? Are you  _ trying  _ to get abducted?" He said as he shoved the card into the boy’s hands. Tim muttered in protest that he didn’t need it, but Jason refused. “Keep it.” He urged, his voice going soft. “If you need a ride, someplace safe to crash, or if you just want somebody to talk to; I don’t care if it's noon, 2 AM, or nine o’clock at night. You can call me, okay? No questions asked. Promise.” 

Tim didn’t know what to say to that. “...Thank you” He said, and Jason wondered if this was the first piece of kindness he had in a long time.

He threw a leg over his motorcycle and wanted to offer the kid a ride, but he didn't want to seem like he was pushing. Instead. he shoved a thick wad of twenties into Tim’s pocket before he could refuse. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for a motel room and a few hot meals. “I gotta go, but I better not catch you here again.” He said with a smile before driving off. 

Tim waved goodbye and waited for him to get out of sight before pulling a flip phone out of his pocket. He listened to the familiar beeps and chimes as it connected to a secure line. “Something must have happened to our contact. No sign of him or this ‘Red Hood’ guy.” 

Oracle sighed on the other end, “Damn, he must have got to him when we weren’t looking.” Weeks of work and now they were right back to square one. 

Something strange was brewing in the Gotham underground and nothing was clicking together. It started with a shift in territories; friendly neighborhood crack dealers suddenly went missing or decided to abandon streets they had worked for years. When the missing dealers started turning up dead, they assumed one of the gangs making a push, but the turf war never came. 

Anyone with even a pinky-toe in the drug trade started scrambling to up their defenses, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

The best lead they found was a low-grade gang leader that was scared out of his mind. There were places he refused to go even in broad daylight. None of them wanted to say it, but there was something in Gotham that frightened these people more than  _ Batman.  _

“New rules man; gotta stay clean, can’t deal to kids… He’ll know…. He  _ always _ knows…” He said, clutching the gold cross around his neck as if it could save him. “The Red Hood’s going to kill me.” The next night, he was found dead in his home of a single gunshot wound. Their best evidence was a piece of paper was pinned to his shirt reading; ‘I WARNED YOU’ and a 9mm bullet casing left behind.

Months and countless sleepless nights later, they were still no closer to finding this new  _ Red Hood.  _ Barbara was beginning to wonder if the guy actually existed or if this was all just a wild goose chase. 

“I did see something interesting though.” Tim told her about what happened and most importantly, he saw the gun Jason shoved into the man’s throat. He would need to take a closer look to know for sure but they might have found their murder weapon. He turned the card over in his hand as he plotted their next move. “Good thing Jason gave me his number.”


	2. Chapter 2

A spartan one-room apartment was the scene for tonight’s performance and stood in for the teen’s home. A perfect fit for a down-on-his luck runaway, dimly lit by streetlights and the green glow from his phone. He took a deep breath as a shouting match started up downstairs. A couple screaming accusations over missing rent money. Tim had to make the call. 

It had been two days since that night at the bar. Oracle whipped up some papers on a runaway teen from Bludhaven while a reverse search on the phone number led back to the same type of cheap prepaid service they used for his flip-phone. Looking into ‘Jason’ was also a dead end. No one seemed to know anything about the man with a white streak in his hair other than he liked his food spicy and that he always paid cash. 

On the other side of town, there was a basement apartment with tools and machine parts scattered across a dozen flat surfaces. Deafening rock and roll paused the moment a call came in on his personal line. It didn’t need to ring twice. “Hello?”

The teen hesitated, shocked at the prompt reply. “I didn’t think you’d actually pick up.” He confessed. This man was certainly full of surprises. 

“I told you I would.” Said like it was nothing but Jason took a swig of coffee and realized he was smiling. He didn’t have to spend the rest of his life wondering what happened to him.

“I know that but...” Tim took a breath and remembered his character.  _ Apologize, act vulnerable, make him let his guard down. Then he’ll be easy.  _ “I’m sorry, did I wake you up? I-I didn’t realize how late it was...” There was the sound of a beer bottle exploding against a wall from downstairs. Tim locked himself into a closet to help keep the noise out, but the walls were paper-thin. Jason asked what was going on. There was a pang of guilt of the concern in his voice. 

He was here for a reason and there was no room for second-guessing. Besides, by this time next week he wouldn’t even remember the man’s name. “There’s always something happening where I live, I keep thinking someone’s going to break in.” He sat down on the dirty floor and pulled his knees up to his chest, a feeble attempt to make himself comfortable. “I didn’t have anyone else to call.” Tim added, barely above a whisper. 

Jason had grabbed his jacket and had it on before he even realized what was doing. What the hell was he even thinking? He didn’t know where the kid was, and even if he did, what was he going to do when he got there? Put him in tiny shorts and call him a sidekick? “Is there anywhere else you can go?” He asked. He had already promised himself he wasn’t going to do this. Was he really going to risk years of careful planning, all that damn  _ work,  _ on some random kid he bumped into at a bar? 

“Where else  _ can _ I go? My step-dad never liked me very much, and it only got worse after my mom died a few years back. After a while, I couldn't take it anymore. The shelters check the missing person’s list and I’ll die before I go back there.” Tim replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

The answer was  _ yes.  _ The bleeding heart in his chest wouldn’t let him walk away from a kid in trouble. “I can-” Jason started, fumbling over the words he wanted to say.  _ Ask me for help, damn it, anything. I’ll do it.  _

Tim knew what he was trying to offer and the guilt came gnawing back. Why was he being so nice? He had nothing to gain from this. “You don’t have to do anything, just being here is more than enough.” 

They lost track of time talking to each other. Tim told him about running away from Bludhaven and how strange the big city was. Jason laughed and told him that he grew up in Gotham and recently came back after years of being overseas. He joked about showing the kid around, only there was about a 50-50 chance that anything he knew was still around. The teen asked what brought him back, and he said “I need to stop something that started ages ago, it’s a long story.”

“I have time.” Tim said, offering a little too eagerly. “I mean… I’m not going anywhere.”  _ Smooth Timster, really smooth.  _ He scolded himself after his professionalism wandered off somewhere. A part of him wanted to blame Jason for it, there was something about the man that was like reuniting with an old friend he couldn’t quite remember. 

And Jason liked the way the teen was opening up to him. The protective layer of ice thawed to Spring and he wanted to watch his flowers bloom. Being comfortable enough to be yourself is the greatest gift someone could receive and Jason cherished that trust like a fine jewel. He leaned back in the chair, the rifle he was cleaning was still in pieces. It hadn’t been touched in almost an hour. “Eh, it’s really boring. Maybe I’ll tell you someday.” He stayed on the line with him until the boy pretended to fall asleep. Tim had even given him his number.

_ It’s all purely circumstantial,  _ Tim told himself. Simply being at the Butterfly with the right type of handgun didn’t mean he was their perpetrator. It’s not like guns are mass-produced or anything, and no one would _ ever _ consider carrying a weapon for personal protection.  _ Not in a city as safe as Gotham,  _ he thought sarcastically. Not to mention that owning a gun and commiting murder with it are two very different things. The next day, Tim was going to prove it.

“Absolutely not.” Bruce said firmly, appalled that his adopted son would even suggest such a thing. “If there’s even the slightest chance that he’s the Red Hood, I cannot allow you to meet with him alone. It’s too soon.” Bruce didn’t know anything about this man and It was common for human traffickers to lure in victims with the promise of warmth and safety. His family were not to be used as bait.

He had wanted to go in as Matches but let’s face it, even with makeup he’s still too old for their target demographic. He had tried and failed multiple times to get in as a bartender or janitor, but never even got a phone call. Blue Butterfly had a strict ‘No Hiring’ policy. Either you knew the boss or don’t waste your time. Sending Tim in was an act of desperation. “Dick will go with you.” and that was his final offer.

Tim scoffed at the idea. “He has enough to deal with in Bludhaven and who knows how long that would take to set up.” They understood the risks, but this was what he was trained to do. “I’ll have my belt with me and a panic button in case things go south. I can handle this, Bruce.”

Bruce refused and as far as he was concerned, the conversation was over. “You’re not going. We’ll find another way.”

The teen went back up to his room, frustrated that his mentor was content to drag his feet. Something big was happening in Gotham and they needed to find out what was going on,  _ fast.  _ They couldn’t wait for more people to turn up dead. Or at least, that was his excuse for why he was so focused on this. 

Jason had to have been involved in something shady and even though he didn’t start it, he wanted to be the one to finish it. There was some new disaster going on; alien invasions, monsters from another dimension, etc. So was it really selfish to want to save one person?

Jason’s phone went off his pocket but he couldn’t reach for it. At his feet, the man from his club begged for his life with a face swollen from bruises. The Red Hood was an artist of pain, he knew exactly what bones to break and what to do to squeeze out every drop of agony. There was no escape. 

The former Robin was sickened to discover how regular his ‘escapades’ were, the revulsion compounded by the fact he had a family of his own. There was a loud  _ crunch  _ as he slammed his boot down on the reptile’s chest. Ribs cracked and splintered under his full weight as a punctured lung filled with blood. He would be dead in seconds. There were no more pathetic pleas as he tried to barter for his life, only a faint gurgle before he was one more piece of trash for the GCPD to collect. Jason wiped some blood off on his shirt, idly thinking of taking a shower when he got home. He managed to answer the phone right before it clicked to voicemail. Seeing Tim’s number made him smile.

“Sorry about the wait, so...” Jason’s words came out smug and breathy from the adrenaline rush. “Whatcha wanna talk about?” 

Something about the tone made Tim blush, he bit his lip and had to remember why he called. “I wanted to know if you were free tonight, ‘cause if you were… I dunno, would you like to go to a movie or something with me?” 

Jason glanced down at his phone like it was an alien life-form, not sure if he had just been asked out on a date. He quickly threw that idea into the trash, he was reading  _ way  _ too much into this. “I’d love to, where do you want to meet?”


	3. Chapter 3

In less than two hours, the teen was waiting at the movie theater. Standing in the cool breeze and watching rain run off the awning in thick lines. It was one of those cool Autumn rains that would linger over the city for a while. The sky was a dull shade of gray for now but by nightfall it would be as clear as crystal. People and cars rushed past the busy street, unhindered by the gloomy weather. An employee offered to let him inside, and he assured them he was fine. It was nice to stand still for once and watch the world pass by. 

Tim didn’t tell anyone where he was going, and it wasn’t like Bruce would be home to notice he was gone. He was off gallivanting with a childhood friend. Tommy or something. 

The quiet was interrupted when a car pulled up that was as expensive as it was gaudy. A sports car painted candy-apple red slowed to a crawl and Tim could see his reflection in the shine. This was not the rough-and-tumble motorcycle he saw last night but Jason behind the wheel, rolling down the window to greet him with a lopsided smile. “Miss me?” He cooed, hiding his eyes behind dark shades. 

This was a massive shock next to the rough-and-tumble motorcycle he had the other night. Tim couldn’t believe it and completely forgot about being a ‘shy, insecure waif’ to tease, “Are you showing off or do you take the lambo to Denny’s too?” 

Jason scoffed, waving his hand dismissively as he said “Heck no, I have a private helicopter for that.” Neither could keep a straight face and broke out laughing. 

In the daylight he could tell Jason was around six feet tall, the exact inch was hard to tell with his thick combat boots. He was in his early twenties with the broad shoulders and thick lines of a soldier.  _ Former Marine? It would certainly explain his physique and being overseas.  _ Tim guessed, stealing glances at the man’s form with something between investigation and appreciation. He wasn't  _ unpleasant  _ to look at.

Tim tried to at least pay for popcorn, but Jason adamantly refused. He tucked another box of candy under the teen’s arm before Tim sighed, saying “I think you’re taking the term ‘sugar daddy’ a little too literally.”

The man’s face turned red as he tripped over his own words, “I wasn’t- I mean I’m not trying to… Aw  _ geez _ .” He looked like he was going to collapse into his own private black hole of embarrassment until Tim put a hand on his arm and assured him he was just joking. There was no way this man could rob a bank or be someone’s legbreaker. 

They were grateful for the blockbuster playing two screens down, it didn’t leave a lot of people who wanted to watch some artsy thriller. It was nice having the theater all to themselves. “So where are you staying now?” Jason asked, making sure he was okay after the fight the other day.

Tim shrugged and replied, “I have an apartment,  _ kinda?  _ I suppose I’m technically squatting.”

Green eyes turned downcast at that. He admitted that he spent a good chunk of his childhood homeless and hungry as all hell, hence him loading the teen up with candy and a large popcorn. “I’m trying to help, so if I start acting pushy or weirding you out... Please let me know so I can stop.” There was a pounding in Tim’s chest and he thanked whatever deity decided to start the movie.

There was a tracer, smaller than a fingernail and hidden by a color-matching patch that weighed heavily in Tim’s hand. He pretended to flinch as the monster came on screen and grabbed the man’s arm, planting it on his sleeve before quickly pulling his hand away. Anyone else would have ignored it or teased him for being so easily startled, but he was quickly learning that Jason was not like ‘everyone else’. 

He offered his hand to the teen like it was the most natural thing in the world, quietly assuring him that there was nothing wrong with being scared or even asking for help. And it went against everything Bruce had ever taught him. 

So much of Tim's training was about suppressing his emotions and being self-reliant. Don’t run headfirst into danger because you cannot rely on anyone to save you. Fear and weakness are weapons that can be used against you. A detective must always be impartial and level-headed but  _ this  _ felt like crossing a line. Tim could go on for days about why he couldn’t, why  _ shouldn’t  _ do this but- 

Against his better judgement, he laced their fingers together. Jason’s hands were rough and calloused from work he couldn’t place, but they held him so gently. There was just enough pressure to remind him he was there and that he was safe, but Tim could still pull away at any moment. When the credits rolled, it hurt to break that contact. He wanted to ask if holding his hand was only allowed here or if they could do it again later. They walked out together, joking about a certain scene when Tim caught a familiar silhouette from the corner of his eye.  _ Batman.  _

Reflexively he jumped back to hide behind a corner, pressing his back against the brick.  _ There’s no way Bruce should know where I am, he couldn’t have.  _ His body went rigid as he waited for an attack that never came. Batman swung from one building to another, he was simply passing by and was already gone when Jason looked over. 

He went on high alert, scanning the street for anything that could have scared Tim so badly. It took the teen a moment to unstick himself from the wall to make sure it was safe. “I’m sorry… I thought I saw someone I knew.” Tim tried to pass it off with a smile, but Jason slung an arm around him as they walked to the car. Shielding him with his body as he kept an eye out for anything vaguely threatening. 

He lit up a cigarette when they were in the car and Tim caught a glimpse of the familiar gun strapped to his chest when he grabbed his lighter, reminding the teen why he was here. “Step-dad?” He asked carefully. Tim pulled his knees up to his chest and said  _ “Yeah.” _

Jason watched him intently, the cigarette smoldering softly between his fingers. He was worried about him.

Tim turned his attention to the window and watched as the rain slowed to a stop just in time for the sun to dip below the horizon. He couldn’t look him in the eye and lie to him anymore. A gentle touch peeled his hand away from his knee as Jason held his hand again. This time it was grip tighter, protective, and a promise of something he didn’t want to think about. He could feel the pulse fluttering under Tim’s pale skin, he was afraid. 

He was frightened of how good it felt to be near him, of the truth that welled up in his throat that threatened to spill out. What would Jason  _ do _ if he knew who he really was? And if Bruce caught even the tiniest hint of what he was thinking he would never see Jason again. “Have you talked to anyone about what he did to you?” He asked softly, still wrapped up in Tim’s story. 

“It’s not important, Jay.  _ It doesn’t matter. _ ” Tim huffed, frustrated and refused to sell him another line of melodramatic bull. 

Jason touched his face, brushing a stray lock out of his eyes and making the teen face him. His dark hair was soft as silk. There was so much pain in those baby blues and Jason never wanted him to hurt again. The teen was older than he thought when they first met, and a hell of a lot stronger than he gave him credit for. “ _ You _ matter and that’s why it matters to me _. _ ” He said. 

"Stop it!" Tim suddenly blurted out, pushing the man away with way more force than he needed. "Stop being so damn nice to me all the time!" This would all be so much easier if Jason was just another jerk they were trying to catch. He didn't sign up for this, and even now the man tried to apologize like it was all his fault. He didn’t understand why Tim was upset but he wanted to fix it.

"Don't… " Tim interrupted, "Don't or I'm going to…" He was holding Jason's collar, torn between shoving him again and just walking away. The man had his hands up in surrender, keeping his mouth shut after it got him into trouble. Tim had a feeling he could punch him in the nose and he'd still blame himself. He knew he should leave right now, slam the car door shut behind him and throw his phone down a storm drain. Declare this little investigation a waste of time and pretend they never met. Jason was just some random barfly packing heat with a heart bigger than his brain. 

Instead, he pulled Jason into a kiss. 

Tim had no idea what he was doing, any semblance of a plan fell into a dumpster fire ages ago. Jason froze in shock the moment their lips touched, but he couldn’t bring himself to push him away. The kiss was desperate, needy as Tim tried to get him to respond but he wouldn’t move. His hands were tight at his sides, wanting but unwilling to touch the body pressed against his. The teen sucked on Jason's bottom lip for a moment before pleading, "Jay, please kiss me, touch me…  _ Anything. _ "

His response was to put a hand on his chest, using firm pressure to ease the teen back into his seat. "Look, I'm not…" Jason ran a hand through his hair, messing up the white streak as he tried to process the noise in his head. "I'm not like that scumbag, I would  _ never  _ pressure you into anything…" His train of thought was trying to take him someplace he should never go. This was dangerous and messy, a place full of self-loathing, and gross people that completely missed the point of the book  _ Lolita.  _

But Tim was willing to brush all that aside, as if there was a chance that all of this could turn out okay. “I know, I trust you. But what do  _ you _ want?” Tim asked and Jason wasn’t sure.

He liked being with Tim, a _lot_. He wanted more movie nights, more time where they could just _be_ together _,_ more of _everything._ He never expected anything romantic out of this, but the mere idea of being wanted, _needed,_ sent his head into overdrive. 

He wanted Tim to kiss him again.

Their hands touched again as Jason wrapped a hand around his. “We can take it slow, like ‘glacier with narcolepsy’ slow.” 

Tim winced at that. “A little faster than  _ that, _ I hope.” He teased, looking up at him with eyes so blue and hoping for a proper kiss. Jason almost obliged, putting a hand on the back of the teen’s head but stopped the moment he got too close. He was so wrapped in this that Jason had almost forgotten the truth. “I think you need to know a few things about me before we actually start something." He said as he started up the car and Tim didn’t know where they were going. Either his little ‘investigation’ was about to hit paydirt or he was going to find out Jason’s not nearly as nice as he thought. 

The car drove off to a part of town the Robins knew too well. It was only a few blocks from the infamous  _ Crime Alley _ and they stopped in front of an old brick building with the windows boarded up. There had been a fire years ago but no one bothered to fix it. Jason stepped out and gestured for Tim to follow, assuring him that it was safe. They had flashlights for the dark. 

The teen didn’t recognize the building, but it seemed to mean a great deal to him. The faded remains of a sign read ‘for Wayward Boys’ in a dignified serif font. Jason had to duck his head under the sagging doorway. 

“What  _ is _ this place?” The teen asked, the detective in him trying to understand what he was looking at. The cheery paint and desks hinted that it was a boarding school, but strange little details kept screaming that something was wrong. Every window had metal bars embedded into the brick and the doors to the children’s rooms were made from solid steel. The layout reminded him of a prison.

" _ Ma Gunn's Home For Wayward Boys.”  _ Jason replied, explaining that he had lived here off and on as a kid between those lovely moments of living on the streets before the cops dragged him back to this hell-hole. 

_ “ _ On paper, the idea was to take a bunch of juvenile delinquents and reform them into upstanding young men, but in reality it was more about beating kids into something they could make a profit off of. Pickpockets, junior thugs, that kinda thing." He showed him what they called ‘solitary confinement’. In reality it was a reinforced broom closet where he was shoved when he acted out too much, which was all the time. It wasn’t even big enough for a child to lay down. A piece of graffiti had been scratched into the wall with a pocket knife that read:  _ Ma Gunn sniffs ass _ . 

“This place eventually got shut down, I was ‘picked up’ by some people and...  _ yeah. _ ” He stopped at that part of the story, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck as he tried to push back bad memories. A part of him wanted to lay everything on the table. Maybe it was his conscience trying to confess?

“This is just the tip of the iceberg, isn't it?” Tim asked as he realized why he was showing him this, he wanted to see if this would scare him off.  _ This  _ was the happy part of Jason’s life and it all went downhill from here.

“My whole life I've been trying to take the awful stuff I’ve been through and try to make something good out of it, but I can’t keep running away from what happened anymore. It’s like this damn leash around my neck and no matter how hard I try, it always drags me back. That’s why I had to come back to Gotham.” Jason moved a little desk and sat down, it creaked in pain under his weight. “I hurt bad people for a living and what I have to do isn’t  _ nice _ by a longshot, but it’s important. So what I’m saying is; my life is crazy and dangerous, but if you want… I’d like you to be a part of it.” He had his hands in lap, he had said his piece and was nervous as he waited for Tim’s inevitable rejection. But that was the last thought on the teen’s mind.

__ “Yes,  _ absolutely. _ ” He said it like all of this was normal, like Jason didn’t just admit he was Frankenstien’s monster. There was anger at what happened to him and the determination to do something about it, but above all there was  _ compassion. _

That seemed to be all the permission his heart needed, as the next thing he knew he had Tim pressed up against the wall. He picked him up like he didn’t weigh a thing. Their lips crushed together as the teen was held tight, the rough stone digging painfully into his back but he didn’t care. They were too drunk on each other to notice trivial things like that.

Tim wrapped his arms around his neck as a pleased moan rumbled in his throat. Jason kissed him like his life depended on it and in a way, it did. He pulled away just enough to kiss the boy’s cheek and the corner of his smile. God, he was so cute when he smiled. ”After everything you’ve been through, you’re still here. You survived it, Jay.”

The warmth in Jason’s eyes faded a few degrees, he had struck a nerve.  _ “No.”  _ he said flatly. “No, I didn’t.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, but the words turned into a pained look. Something unpleasant caught his attention and all that came out was a dull “Uhh...” He followed the man’s gaze and found that the wall behind him was suddenly a lot cleaner than before. 

“You jerk!” Tim shouted when he realized that years worth of dirt and grime had been transferred to the back of his shirt. Jason apologized between fits of laughter and offered to wash his clothes back at his place. Tim felt bad about getting the car dirty, but Jason didn’t care. 

Tim soon learned that calling his flat a ‘home’ was a vast overstatement. It was a place where he could sleep in a real bed and occasionally do laundry. The man lived in the basement level of a building clearly picked for its location rather than comfort. It was originally a bomb shelter built at the height of the mid-century nuclear scare, and some enterprising owner tried flipping it as some sort of industrial-chic housing. Sadly, there was no amount of tasteful light fixtures or faux wood panelling that could cover up what it was.

Jason had asked about the steel blast doors they tried to hide under white semi-gloss paint. The property manager mentioned they couldn’t remove them without taking out the entire front wall of the unit, and that the lead-lining was fully embedded so there was no risk of poisoning. He responded with, “I’m already in love, just show me where I sign.” 

But now he hesitated the moment the key went into the lock. “Actually, give me ten minutes to clean up before coming in.” That gave him just enough time to find homes for the sniper rifle by the door and the other weapons scattered around. There was nothing he could do about the military-grade crates lining the far wall. A quick glance in the ‘fridge revealed a gallon of milk and a half-eaten MRE that tasted like ass but he couldn’t be bothered to throw it out yet. Pizza delivery saves the day, once again.

The teen was curiously examining one of the devices he had sitting out, it was a leftover long-range ignition for an explosive. There was no payload attached to it and to the untrained eye, it was a  _ dingus _ . “So how old are you anyway?” Jason asked suddenly, snapping Tim out of his thoughts. 

“I’m seventeen- _ eighteen,  _ in a few months.” The teen answered, correcting himself a little too quickly .

A laugh tugged at the corner of Jason’s mouth as he said, “Sure you are.” Tim cringed as he showed him where the bathroom was. That wasn’t really the best response to hear from someone he's attracted to. Damn, he probably wasn’t going to get kissed again anytime soon. 

The bathroom was cramped and a tacky shade of pastel blue, but it was functional. The utilitarian feel wasn’t helped by the fact that the only thing on the counter was a toothbrush and a razor. Tim undressed and left his clothes for Jason to toss into a washer. It was no surprise to find his phone signal was as dead as a doornail and he made a note to himself to research Ma Gunn’s later. The young detective couldn’t resist nosing around the medicine cabinet and unlike the refrigerator,  _ this  _ was fully stocked. 

Each shelf was packed with supplies, there was a pharmacy selection of painkillers and antibiotics. He picked up a bright yellow package and read the label.  _ This is a narcotic…  _ He thought in disbelief before reaching for a bottle of pills, hoping to find at least  _ one _ thing that had a prescription on it. There were sterile syringes, rolls of bandages, and he stopped when he found an orange plastic case containing everything he needed to dig out a bullet or stitch a wound. The box was the oldest thing in the cabinet and it had been restocked frequently. 

Tim quickly fumbled for the tiny UV light in his utility belt, it would make even scrubbed-away blood shine like a star. Just a press of a button and- _ Oh.  _

Oh, no. Something horrible was happening here.

Fluorescent purple dotted the counter and pooled in the sink. There were fingerprints on the faucet handles and the suture box lit up like it had been dipped in glow-in-the-dark paint. Jason would come here, wounded and bleeding, to patch himself up after god-knows-what. What if he passed out? What if he went into shock?  _ What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Jay?  _ The man wasn’t up to his neck in something illegal, he was  _ drowning. _

He needed to figure out who Jason was and put a stop to this before it got him killed. He quickly lifted some fingerprints and found a few hairs in the shower drain. Sadly, the blood was too degraded to get a proper sample.

A small knock at the door made him jump. Jason had left him a pile of clothes to wear and let him know that the pizza would be here by the time he was finished. 

He didn’t know what to do about the boy. Getting him involved in this insanity was the last thing he wanted, right below being hit by a bus, but it was too late to turn back now. And what the hell was up with that  _ kiss? _

It felt good,  _ way  _ too damn good when he was touched like that. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Tim pulled at his clothes, like he needed the man more than air. It took everything he had not to lose his mind the first time they kissed. Where did this come from? He didn’t mean for it to go this way. He passed it off as nothing more than a cruel biological reaction. He was stressed, he was  _ lonely _ , and just wanted someone to pat him on the head and call him a good boy. Jason needed to go to a bar, get laid, and break things off with Tim before he got in too deep. 

The bathroom door was hanging open and Tim had just gotten out of the shower. His black hair tousled and damp as he reapplied his makeup. There was a little tin of powder and he tapped the excess off of a fluffy brush like he’d seen an old girlfriend do a thousand times before. 

There was something deeply possessive about seeing his gray shirt hanging off of the teen’s slender frame and he caught a glimpse of a scar on an exposed shoulder. Why didn’t he notice how beautiful he was before? Jason realized from the tug in his chest that the bar plan wouldn’t work, he didn’t want anyone else. He wanted  _ Tim _ . 

It wasn’t lust that made him want to wrap his arms around him and keep him safe. It was something far worse that was filling his head with pink paper hearts and bubble baths.  _ I am so fucked,  _ he thought. The whine he made may have been less  _ internal  _ that he previously believed. Tim had caught him leaning against the doorway with a soft look in his eyes.

He stood up a little straighter as he tried to play it cool, like it wasn’t creepy at all to watch him put on makeup. “You…  _ You look good. _ ” He said, giving a vague gesture of approval before bolting away to get the pizza.  _ Jesus Todd, can you be anymore awkward? Next time why don’t you stand outside of his window with a giant boner? _

At least the delivery guy was too desensitized by his job to notice anything odd about the apartment. Gotta love Gotham; freak capital of the USA. They ate supper on paper plates and curled up on the couch. 

Tim felt safe tucked under his arm, feeling the soft rise and fall of Jason’s chest as an old movie played on the TV. There was a small kiss on the teen’s forehead, as if he was afraid he would vanish the moment he let go. It had been way too long since he had permission to simply  _ exist  _ and then he saw the clock on the wall. With a horrified gasp, he realized it was already four in the morning. It was supposed to be a bright, sunshiny day and Bruce had probably burnt down half the city looking for him by now.

Tim scrambled for the door, saying that he needed to make a phone call and he’d be right back. He hated running away like that, but his family had to know he was still breathing. 

The moment he stepped out of the apartment, his phone exploded from the barrage of messages. Barbara had tried everything she could to get his attention except chasing him down in her wheelchair. There were panicked voicemails from Alfred and even Dick had been called in from Bludhaven. Tim groaned in pain. Here he was, drowning in his hormones while his family was worried sick. He called Barbara.

“I'm fine, just really busy and lost track of time. What can you tell me about  _ Ma Gunn's Home for Wayward Boys _ ? He said he grew up there.” He asked, trying to change the subject.

“You have to get away from ‘Mystery Man’ right now, the man’s a freaking  _ serial killer. _ ” There was worry in her voice, afraid that the worst had already happened. “They found a body a few blocks away from the club and I don't mean 'car accident under mysterious circumstances' dead, we’re talking ‘all of his fingers broken and stomped to death’ kinda dead.” 

His phone buzzed as the official story was thrown up on the screen. The police couldn’t find a motive as to why a happy family man was murdered but the brutality said there was a lot more than just a mugging gone wrong. “That's the guy that groped you, isn't it?" Barbara asked, hearing the question out loud made him see a truth he didn’t want to admit. 

There was a sharp intake of breath before he said “No, it’s not.” He panicked and she caught the lie faster than it left his mouth. “Why are you protecting him?” She asked, bewildered that he would throw out his investigative credibility like that.

She explained that a few hours ago there was an alert that someone was digging through his missing person’s file. Most of his information was sealed since he’s a minor and ‘it's an ongoing investigation’, Barbara ended up having to shut down the server after he kept trying to hack into it. He was trying to find out about Tim’s imaginary step-dad and even started looking into school records for an address. There had been a fake one on file, but Barbara removed that immediately. She had a feeling that whoever lived there would turn up dead. “I’m sending you a car, you’re in way over your head.” 

“I don't know how much longer I'll have my phone, I need the information on Ma Gunn’s.” He said as he cracked open the back of his phone.

She was not pleased in the slightest but she sent the files, trying to keep him on the line for as long as possible. He could practically feel her wrapping her fingers around his cell’s GPS. "It was a front, they had been taking advantage of kids with nowhere to go and funneling them into a crime ring before Batman took them down. Nightwing was still a Titan back then.” There was a strange scratching noise on the other line. As soon as they finished downloading, he tore the tiny chip out of the phone and it shattered under his heel. “Tim, you’re not thinking straight. You don’t want to do this!”

“I’m sorry, but I’ll be home soon.” He hung up and started digging through the files. Detective work reminded him who he was, _what_ he was. Jason had _Tim_ but right now, he needed _Robin._ There was something ugly, something painful inside the man that he was hiding. Jason said that he ‘hurt bad people for a living’ but Tim didn’t want to think about what that actually meant. 

Gray lines of data scrolled over the screen as Tim went through the records from  _ Ma Gunn’s.  _ There were copies of the facility’s records, mixed in with Bruce’s notes on the case. He made a quick list of kids' names and searched for anyone fitting Jason’s description. One name stood out with all the subtlety of an atom bomb:  _ Jason Peter Todd. _

It was absolutely ridiculous but Tim found himself reading the file anyway. He was taken in by the state after his mother died from a long battle with illness and drug addiction, the father had died in prison years prior. Pages of notes detailed Jason’s ‘behavioral issues’ with violence, theft, and disobedience to name a few. Bruce’s notes corrected that they painted him as a monster because he dared to stand up for himself. He even spent a lot of time in solitary confinement. 

He knew he was wasting time and should close the file. This was bizarre and reading it would only make his mood worse. That was when he saw the photograph. 

It was a police mugshot from when he was thirteen. Purple bruises stained his hands and his lip was split from being hit, but the look in his eyes made it seem like a hostage photo. It was the cold acceptance that he knew what was left of his life could be measured with the hands of a clock. It was a horrifying thing to see on the face of a child. But the line of his jaw, the shape of his eyes, he was even the right age... Tim couldn’t unsee the pieces of the man he kissed. 

There was a soft touch on his arm as Jason pulled him into a hug, the feeling was a warm blanket on frayed nerves. “Do you need to leave?” He asked, not wanting him to leave so soon. Tim nodded and said “It’s so late-I work mornings so I just called off. They’re pissed but they’ll deal.” The lie was garbage, even by his standards, and he braced himself for an interrogation that never came. Jason respected his secrets.

The teen took one more kiss for the road, wrapping his arms around his neck. He didn’t know  _ when _ , or even  _ if  _ he could get to touch him like this again and would have to make it last. Locking away the feeling of their lips pressed together, he had to pull away. 

Jason was giving him a ride back to his building and hopefully he could make his way back to the manor before Bruce went nuclear. He still had fingerprints and DNA samples to analyse, they should have no trouble finding Jason’s juvenile arrest records. 

The man’s hands wrung the steering wheel, leaving creases in the leather that vanished the moment he relaxed his grip. A nervous shade of pink tinged his cheeks as he said “I know my place isn’t much right now _ ,  _ but we could make it homey. If you'd like to move in, that is…" He only took his eyes off of the road for a few moments to gauge the teen’s reaction, unsure if he was moving too fast. He didn’t see the truck speeding straight towards them.

Tim reacted before Jason even realized what was happening, pulling him tight against his chest to protect him from the impact. In an instant, the truck collided with the car’s left side and there was a sickening crunch of metal crumpling like foil. A shower of broken glass was thrown against them and skittered across the dashboard. The sheer force of it bending the door concave. Some miracle kept Jason’s legs from being crushed into a pulp. 

The car came to a sudden stop in the brick corner of a convenience store, and Tim wouldn't let go until his heart stopped pounding. He finally eased the vice-grip on him so they could look at each other. There were cuts all over the teen's arms and face, and he would be bruised as hell in the morning, but he didn’t care about any of it. Jason wasn’t hurt. At least, not on the  _ outside. _

Tim was smiling but Jason couldn’t see it, unable to take his eyes off of the glint of polycarbonate shards stuck in his skin. They oozed lazily when he moved and left red smears where they touched. This was his fault. He should have been paying attention. He should have been driving one of his real cars, not this flashy piece of garbage.

The moment he heard a car door slam shut, Jason knew this wasn’t an accident. This was a  _ hit  _ and the assassin was coming to finish the job. Whoever this was, they knew where he lived and were waiting for him to leave. The was a very short list of people that knew about the apartment and the man that lived inside. His expression turned dark as the man strolled up to the wreckage carrying a gun, he expected this to be easy. The crash would leave his target dazed and a few bullets would be enough to take care of any survivors that weren’t killed on impact. 

Tim’s seatbelt was fused shut in the crash and he cut the belt with a batarang. He needed to protect his boyfriend, he wasn’t Jason  _ Todd _ . He was too good, too  _ kind _ to hurt anyone and-

Jason snapped the man’s neck like a twig. 

The man had pressed the gun against Jason’s forehead and opened his mouth to make some quip like ‘No one messes with Black Mask’ or ‘Now you know who the real power is in Gotham’ or  _ blah blah blah.  _ He was not putting up with this today. Some motherfucker was waiting outside his home and got Tim hurt, he did not  _ deserve _ mercy _.  _ There was no fear, no hesitation, as he put a hand on either side of his head and twisted. There was a sickening  _ snap  _ and the man fell dead to the floor. Quick, clinical, efficient. 

Tim stared frozen in horror at the body, hoping against his better judgement that he would start breathing again. 

Jason got out of the car and drew his gun. “ _ Hush.  _ If you wanted to fuck me over, all you had to do was ask. I have to warn you though;  _ I like it rough."  _ He seethed at the man that wandered into the store to observe the damage.

The stranger was wearing a long brown trench coat and had his head covered in bandages. Glass crunched under his shoes as he walked. "You're a hard man to get a hold of _.  _ You weren’t answering my calls, so forgive me if I had to get a little creative. _ "  _ Hush replied, running his eyes over the dazzling sports car that had been reduced to a mass of twisted steel and paint.  _ If only the irritating Red Hood was as easily ruined. _

Tim watched in rapt attention as the convenience store quickly turned into a battleground. A rapid skirmish of gunfire and martial arts when the other dared to get too close. The way he fought, the way he  _ moved...  _ Jason wasn’t some ex-marine that got on the wrong side of law, he realized as he did a set of complicated flips to avoid a spray of bullets. He might actually  _ be _ the former Robin. 

The universe gave him no time to wrap his brain around this discovery as a knock on the glass caught his attention. 

A policeman shone a light into Tim’s face, "Step out of the car right now, I have to get you to safety." He explained, for some reason he wasn’t willing to touch the door. 

This didn’t make sense. There weren’t any sirens and there wasn’t a police car to be seen anywhere. Unless he was sitting in an empty store at 4 in the morning, there’s no way he should have gotten here this fast anyway. 

The policeman  _ really _ did not like his hesitation. His face suddenly twisted into a snarl, "Are you stupid, kid? Do you know what people like that could do to you?!" The soldier shouted before slamming both hands on the side of the car. The vehicle rocked with inhuman force. 

Tim eased away from the door and the ‘policeman’ grinned, mouth splitting open impossibly wide like it was made of play-dough. There were far too many misshapen teeth. "At least it would be better than what  _ I _ would do to you." His arms melted into putty before changing into steel blades.  _ It was Clayface. _

Before he could rip the door off, a grenade the size of a shooter marble was thrown at the monster’s head. It exploded with a pale liquid that froze on contact and two more followed suit, hitting his arm and torso. Even Tim felt the sudden downward spike in temperature. Clayface howled in agony as the left side of his body solidified, his arm cracking and oozing with tan-colored sludge. The fluid stunk of rotten make-up. He couldn’t maintain his shape under so much stress and was leaking onto the floor. The pain must have been excruciating. 

Hush grabbed Jason’s arm before he could throw another grenade, screaming “Stop it! You’re killing him! You would throw away everything we’ve been working on for a _ damn car?!”  _ At times like these he wished he had heat-vision, so his glare could melt a hole in this idiot’s skull. 

“Then you shouldn’t have gotten him involved in  _ your  _ pissing match. You came to my  _ home, _ waiting to attack me-Look at this collateral damage! How many civilians are involved now?” He fumed, turning to his co-conspirator to cut him down to size and gesturing towards the store. He never wanted Tim to get involved in this part of his life. Not like this, not so  _ soon.  _ His real cars were practically indestructible, they had security systems. They only attacked him because he foolishly thought he could walk away from this life for a few hours. “Give me  _ one _ reason I shouldn’t kill you both and leave your corpses for the cops.”

“To...night” Clayface said, shaking, his words slurred from trying to speak with frozen lips. “The first kill is tonight. Out in the open. No security.” He tried retracting a part of his chest, but it would barely move. He had to dig in with his hands to pull out a manila envelope. This was the message they rose hell banging on his door to get to him, at least it was a good one. Jason almost sympathized. 

He took the prize, wiping off some stray clay onto his jeans off before flipping through its contents. There were pages of blueprints, detailed diagrams on the building’s security system. He smiled, “Congratulations Karlo, you’ve earned back your right to live.”

“Thank you… Thank you…” Clayface repeated as his body started to thaw.

Now it was Hush’s turn to face the consequences. “Now, what have  _ you  _ got for me?” He asked with that same cocky smile of a cat digging its claws into its prey and Hush weighed his options.

Clayface was looking at him with murder in his eyes. He was just as likely to attack him to get back on Hood’s good side. And then he noticed the whelp in the wreckage.  _ So that’s what he was interested in. _

The creature was a petite thing, almost too pretty to be called a boy. Dirt and sweat smudged his eyeliner until it looked like he had been crying. A concubine, he assumed, and a good one from the way his enemy protected him. This was useful. 

“Who’s your friend, Red? A liability? Or perhaps a loose thread that needs to be  _ cut _ ?" Hush threatened, reaching out to grab the boy by the hair. He had expected him to cower or cling helplessly to his lover for help, but as the boy’s predecessor famously said:  _ Fuck you, I'm Robin. _

Tim reacted on reflex, smacking his hand away and followed up with a punch in the mouth. 

Hush recoiled in shock, touching the blood on his split lip in disbelief that this  _ wretch  _ had the nerve to damage his face. He stepped forward with murder in his eyes but Jason drew a very different explosive from his jacket before he could wrap his hands around the boy’s neck. Something larger than a hand grenade. 

The pin hit the floor with a deafening  _ ting _ that announced that Jason had officially stopped fucking around. Everyone knew that it would only take one wrong move to turn this into a bloodbath. 

“The way I see it; I fire this thing and we’ve got about thirty minutes for the GCPD to put on their big-boy pants and join the party. That means Batman will be here in  _ ten _ .” He said as he held down the strike lever, Hush and Clayface were looking at him in horror. “Now I’m not afraid to turn this into a massacre, but  _ Clayface _ …” Jason paused, “Are you willing to die for this moron?” 

They were smart enough to know that they might win if they both attacked, but that would require a level of trust and teamwork they just didn’t have. It would be a cold day in hell before they would put their lives on the line for someone else.

Even Tim dove into the car for cover, shocked that the gun was not the most lethal thing Jason walked around with. The man cuddled with him on the couch, completely relaxed, when he knew there was not just one, but  _ multiple explosives  _ in his pockets. 

"You're insane, you would kill us all over a-" Hush sneered and Clayface interrupted, "Don't argue with the man holding a bomb. It's not worth it."

Jason shouted, furious "How long did you really think I was going to let you yank my chain before there were consequences? Now, are we  _ done _ with this dick-waving contest or do I have to start taking apologies in blood?” The two villains looked to each other once before backing down, slinking away into the shadows to lick their wounds.

The moment the threat was gone, his hands were on Tim to make sure he was okay. The grenade was already rendered inert from a spare pin, tossed in the backseat and forgotten. Bruce would have taken one look at his injuries and tell him to ‘walk it off’. 

“Jay, I’m  _ fine _ . I’ve been through  _ way _ worse than this.” He tried to lighten the mood with a smile and Jason looked at him like he was dying. Most people aren’t fine after masked nutjobs tried to murder them, or at least were  _ slightly  _ concerned about about the fact he was bleeding. Jason could only wonder at what nightmares the boy had lived through. 

“I should have protected you.” He said as he pulled the teen into his arms, wishing he could take back the target he had painted on his chest. He had to get Tim away from this and  _ now. _

There was a soft  _ click  _ as a hypodermic needle was pressed into the base of Tim's neck. The sedative hit his bloodstream instantly. Any screams would be muffled by his shirt, Jason held him tight and prayed he wouldn't fight it too much. “I can live with you hating me, but I can’t live with you getting killed because of me.” Taila would have mocked him for not simply snapping his neck.


	4. Chapter 4

Tim was sitting in a roller chair, rocking from side to side like an impatient child while he waited for someone to tell him what to do. The Red Hood had a meeting tonight and the place was crawling with his soldiers. The Butterfly hadn’t been the same dive since the drug lord took over and it wasn’t fair that he was barely above a prisoner while Scarecrow was off having the time of his life. 

That maniac had a lab off-site that was fully-funded, fully-stocked, and within minutes it was covered in cheap Halloween decorations. As long as he didn’t gas his coworkers, the Red Hood would even toss him the occasional human test subject. All while he couldn’t even pee without an armed escort watching his every move. He stopped popping his gum long enough to ask, “Lou, I’m booooored. When’s Red getting back?” He whined, hoping to get back on the man’s good graces since the car accident. So far he wasn’t having any luck. 

The soldier was studying maps projected onto a screen and occasionally moved colored pins as if the right combination would unlock a secret room. “I am  _ not _ your babysitter and it’s  _ Lieutenant Gantt _ to you, freak.” The tone was harsh, but the freak ignored him. 

Suddenly Tim perked up when he saw a familiar figure through the glass. The Red Hood strolled into the room in full gear, reading a folded-up newspaper as he walked. The teen stood up to greet him and in a single fluid motion, Jason drew a gun and shot him between the eyes. He didn’t even bother glancing up from his work.

Lou flinched and turned away, but he could still see it in his head. It was a scene he had seen too many times, that brief flicker of betrayal before someone brains were splattered against the wall. He didn’t need to see another civilian lying dead in a pool of their own blood. Nauseating even if he knew it was fake.

Jason wasn’t so easily nauseated and he nudged him with his boot. “Get up Karlo, we know bullets can’t kill you.” The teen’s body didn’t move, staring at the ceiling with an empty gaze for a moment longer. But the moment of doubt never came and Clayface sat up, irritated that he couldn’t fool these people. 

The pool of blood under his head retracted back into the soft mass of his body. The facade breaking with an inhuman snarl. “That still hurts!” He shouted, and Jason made a vague shrug as if to say _ ‘Ask me if I care.’ _

“Haven’t seen your cupcake around anywhere, where’d you stash him?” Clayface asked sweetly with his hands behind his back. Still wearing the boy’s face as he lingered at the edge of Jason’s personal space, and stepped back when his hand drifted towards another freeze grenade. The actor didn’t know how Tim sounded or acted, and seeing his boyfriend reduced to ditzy jailbait was grating on his nerves. 

“ _ Cupcake’s _ chained up at the bottom of Gotham Bay. He saw you transform and I can’t stand having loose ends.” It was a blatant lie, but things went smoother when the hired help thought he would gut them at any moment.

The real Tim had no idea where he was. He woke up, groggy and confused, like he was trying to process the world through layers of wool. The strangest dream haunted him just out of his grasp. There was the feeling of being slammed against hard plastic, frigid air on his skin, and the sting of a needle in his neck. He had been drugged. 

He tried to rub his aching head but found his wrist handcuffed to a hospital bed. His wounds had been bandaged and thin wires ran from his chest to machines that beeped softly. A blue plastic curtain had been drawn for privacy, but he could still make out the shapes and voices of people walking past. The accent was American, so at least he didn't wake up in a different country. 

There was a sigh of relief when he found he still had his belt and picking the lock was child’s play. He wouldn’t have a lot of time before someone realized he was gone, he had to find Jason and get out of here fast. Slipping past the curtain, he found out that this was some sort of infirmary. Everyone he saw was dressed like a member of a private army, covered in red camouflage and armed to the teeth. Their insignia was a cracked skull with crossed pistols and the slogan DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES. Even the doctor that checked his blood oxygen level had a semi-automatic strapped to her back. It was specially designed for urban warfare with a collapsible stock. The model had been commissioned for a third-world country's black ops unit and to get one, you had to know people in very  _ high _ or very  _ low _ places. Naturally, Deathstroke had one in every color.

An officer was speaking with the doctor, asking to be notified the moment Tim was awake.

Tim found some stairs leading to the main level of the facility and walked past a sign pointing back where he came from reading ‘Employees Only.’ He had no idea what he was expecting to find behind that door, but it wasn’t the Blue Butterfly. And he had walked right into a villian meeting. 

The club was closed during the day and an elegant table and chairs had been set up on the dancefloor, ostentatiously large for only three people. Scarecrow was there, but standing next to Hush rather than in command of whatever was going on here. That spot was reserved for a man in a red helmet and decked out in body armor. He must be the militia’s commander.

There was a large metal crate the size of a loveseat with a digital keypad on the side and he was explaining how to use it. “-filled with an aerosolized sedative. Crack the seal and you’ve got about 30 minutes to set up, after that I can’t guarantee your safety.” The helmet gave a mechanical rumble to his voice and he moved with the confidence of a man that believed he was the most dangerous thing in the room. 

Scarecrow ran a reverential hand over the side of the crate, as if he could feel the raw misery that would soon be unleashed. "Was the prisoner damaged in capture?" He asked, the slightest hint of excitement bleeding into his monotone. 

The man in the helmet scoffed, "All of his bones could be broken, it makes no difference. The first kill  _ will  _ be tonight." He slammed his fist down on the table in a flicker of rage at the idea that anything would stall his revenge. He relaxed suddenly like a dial was turned down, screaming rage turning into fumes through gritted teeth. "Only bruises, nothing more." He corrected, finally answering his question. 

_ The leader is mentally unstable and also prone to fits of violence. Great.  _ Tim mentally groaned. This morning kept getting better by the minute. He could tell Hush was frowning under his bandages but Scarecrow was too pleased by their purchase to care.

Scarecrow’s gaze flicked over to Hush for a moment. His two friends were an endless font of hatred and anxieties for him to study. “I had heard about the setback with the car...” He let his voice trail off, letting the words fall like a match into spilled gasoline. 

The Red Hood took the bait, snapping “There  _ was _ no setback. He overstepped his bounds and got slapped.” 

Scarecrow gestured over to one of his own henchmen to bring over a bottle of champagne, while others were taking the crate away. A nobody in a cheap Halloween mask poured three glasses. Scarecrow stood, shedding a few loose pieces of straw in the process and held up his glass for a toast. "I feel like this is long overdue. Batman is a foe we have been fighting for years, some of us even _decades…_ But now, we finally reach the beginning of the end of not only our enemy but of _all hope in Gotham_. He will be broken, beaten, disgraced, and abandoned."

Hush raised his and added, "To victory, long overdue." His eyes were bright with bloodlust and determination.

The Red Hood finished the toast, more solemn than the others. "To the one that could not join us tonight, who brought us all together." Scarecrow gave him an odd look at that. The drug lord couldn't actually drink without removing his helmet but it was mostly a symbolic gesture anyway. He seemed pleased by the general good mood and set the dainty glass down and looked directly at Tim.

_ There’s no way he should have seen me, does he have thermal?  _ He stood up to bolt, but there was a hand on his shoulder before he could run. A gruff-looking soldier with his hair clipped dangerously close to his skull pulled him away from the railing. “Boss would like to have a word with you, kid.” He tilted his head towards the three conspirators as he promised, “We won’t hurt you, but those two don’t give a damn.”

Tim glanced back to the dancefloor as he hesitated. All eyes were on him and he would be shot to pieces the moment he tried to fight. 

Hush drew a gun and pointed it at the man with the helmet. “This was supposed to be a  _ private  _ meeting." He growled. In an instant, every soldier within the area immediately dropped whatever they were doing and had guns drawn on Hush. Even the bartender had a glock. 

But before anyone could pull a trigger, the third grabbed Hush and slammed his head down on the table with so much force that lesser furniture would have been split in half. Blood stained the bandages from a broken nose and a lip cut open on his teeth. His head was held down like the inferior creature he was. "You do not question my loyalty or my  _ soldiers _ , you arrogant piece of shit." He let go and sent Hush off to be dealt with. "Now get out and let my medical team fix your face, too bad they can't do anything about that ground beef you call a brain." Hush slunk away, already plotting his revenge for this public embarrassment. 

The Red Hood gestured for Tim to sit next to him, grumbling that ‘they were almost finished anyway'.

The soldier nudged his back, urging the teen to 'play along' when every fiber of his being was screaming at him to get the hell out of there. Screw his cover, use his panic button, and just start beating these assholes with his staff. 

But Jason was still here somewhere and revealing he was Robin could be his death sentence.

He walked over stiffly and obediently took the seat to the man's left. The papers on the table were blueprints and diagrams of a security system. Red must figure it didn't matter what he saw, he would be dead before the sun came up. 

"I see that you went out with your picnic basket and brought a wolf pup home.” Crane said with a curious tilt to his head, anticipating a new experiment. Was this one of his assassins? Working with Red always led him to the most interesting people.  _ “ _ Do not be afraid of me, little one. A friend of the Red Hood is a friend of mine. You wounded Hush, I think that’s earned you a  _ proper _ name.” He smiled under his burlap mask. Tim's blood went cold at that, he had never really left the Red Hood case at all.

“Boy looks a little  _ green,  _ doesn’t he?” Red Hood said and Scarecrow stopped cold, the code phrase went completely over the teen’s head. “And  _ no _ , he doesn’t get a  _ name _ . He’s not involved in this just like our fourth member isn’t.” He gestured to the empty chair. 

The eerie monotone to Crane’s voice suddenly vanished, like a different person was in the driver’s seat. “Is that what he is? If I had known I never would have let Hush go after the car.” He said, and it was the first time Tim had ever heard him talk like that. 

“You know  _ now. _ ” Red Hood replied and that conversation was over. His friend still insisted on giving the boy a code name, but he adamantly refused. It didn’t stop Scarecrow from referring to the teen as ‘Wolf’ for the rest of the evening. The talk went on for a little while longer, with Hush out of the way they were like old friends catching up over tea. Scarecrow had a few glasses of champagne while Red's went warm. Tim was offered but he wouldn’t touch it. 

A hand found his under the table, the Red Hood lacing their fingers together. Tim couldn't tell if it was supposed to be flirtatious or soothing, but the rough texture of his gloves made it more uncomfortable than it already was. He pulled his hand away and expected another violent outburst. Instead, the Red Hood acted like nothing happened. He gestured to the soldier when Scarecrow got up to leave, "Take him back to the VIP room."

The man’s name was Lou and he led him to a back room, holding onto his upper arm to keep him from running. He spoke to him when they were out of earshot of everyone else, “You're  _ Tim _ , aren't you? Jason says good stuff about you." The way Boss went on about him, you'd think the boy hung the moon. 

Tim’s eyes went wide as he asked, "Wait, you know Jason? Is he here? Is he okay?" 

Lou tensed at the question and suddenly turned sympathetic, like the subject was physically painful to talk about. The boy didn’t know. "That's not an easy question… Yes and no, on both accounts." 

Tim’s hands tightened at his sides. “Red Hood said I was ‘green’, what does that mean?”

“It means to treat you like you’re uranium, very gentle and with lots of respect, or else…” Lou made a  _ boom  _ gesture with his hands complete with the sound effect. “Boss introduced you because Dr. Crane has one too.” He added before leaving him to wait alone with a guard posted at the door. 

He didn’t know how long he was stuck staring at warm magenta mood lighting and questioning the cleanliness of leather couches. The cellphone was dead again, which didn't make sense unless they were using a jammer. There were no windows. He hid by the door, holding an unplugged lamp to use as a weapon. At least he didn’t have to wait long for the Red Hood to make an appearance. 

The lamp came down with a crash the moment the door opened, slamming it right into the man’s stomach. Tim ducked down and slipped past in his confusion, only to be grabbed by the back of his shirt. Someone that bulky should not be able to move that fast.

He was janked back and slammed with his back against the wall. The door was closed and locked tight, trapping him in a personal meeting with the Red Hood. He was outnumbered, outgunned, and didn’t even have a stitch of kevlar. He  _ really _ should have taken Barbara’s car.

"Shhh, it's okay Tim. You're safe now." He cooed as if to a frightened puppy, still gripping his collar while the other hand touched his cheek.

_ How does he know my name? Why is he acting so-  _ Tim tried to stop the puzzle pieces from clicking together.  _ No no no no- It can't be! _

The man pulled a hidden switch at the back of his helmet, after a brief electronic hiss it opened up to reveal a slightly sweaty Jason. His hair damp from confinement and sticking up at odd angles. “Miss me?" He said with a crooked smile that was supposed to be charming, but the teen was suddenly more afraid of him now than before. 

His smile suddenly dropped to a look of worry, "Earth to planet Tim, what's wrong? You're shaking like a leaf." He took the teen’s hand and could feel the pulse pounding just under the skin, Tim thought he was going to pass out.

“You’re the Red Hood… Whatever you're planning, you don't have to do this. You don't have to hurt anyone.  _ Please.  _ We can just go home and-and-” He was babbling nonsense and his vision blurred with tears that threatened to overflow.  _ No. Please not you, anyone but you.  _ Tim pleaded in his head.  _ This can’t be real, I have to been fear-gassed or-  _ Jason wasn’t a victim in this, he was a  _ perpetrator. _

Jason pulled him into his arms, as if holding him tight enough would keep the boy’s heart from breaking. “Whoa, whoa,  _ whoa.  _ Take deep breaths, what are you talking about?” He lifted Tim’s chin up.

Tim was clutching the body armor of his chest and he felt so tiny pressed against him. The man was so warm,  _ so alive  _ with every rise and fall of his chest. So many questions flooded his head but none dared to reach his mouth.  _ I know you’re Jason Todd, how did you survive? What happened to you? Why are you working with Scarecrow? Why do you want to kill Batman? Why didn’t you come home?  _ All he could do was sob, wiping an eye with the heel of his hand and leaving a black smudge. “I-I can’t let you go through with this. I won’t let you throw your life away.”

_This boy’s too good for me,_ Jason thought as his expression went soft. “This is _not_ how I wanted you to find out about this.” He said as he picked him up and set him down on the couch. Tim sat on the edge of the cushion, his legs parted as an invitation for Jason to stand between them. The motions of his fingers petting Tim’s dark hair was soothing. “You know the phrase ‘Don't fight monsters, lest ye become one’? Well… yeah, _that_ happened and now I'm auditioning for _Gotham's Next Top Psychopath._ So far it looks like I'm going to make it to the finals. You really should see me in the swimsuit competition-" He stopped suddenly, looking guilty. "Right. ‘Humor as a coping mechanism’ isn't really appropriate here." _Ugh,_ _Dr. Crane really hit the nail on the head with that one._

Tim was all too aware of how close their bodies were, trying to focus on the little details to avoid breaking apart. He was close enough to see that his armor wasn’t made of kevlar but something else, micro-threaded titanium maybe? Tim wanted to take every piece apart and find out what it was made of. He couldn’t maintain the lie that his curiosity was purely professional. 

Tim held Jason's face in his hands and asked, "The man who went to the movies with me, opened his heart to me… Is he  _ Jason?" _

_ "Yes" _ He replied immediately, relief in his voice like he was letting go of a weight tied around his neck. Tim's hands slid down to rest on his chest. His hands covered the stylized symbol on his chestplate, it was something between a bird and a bat.

"The drug lord, the man that broke that guy's nose, you-" he choked on the words. “You killed the guy at the club, didn’t you?”

This time he hesitated, not wanting to be less than what Tim deserved. “I found out that you weren’t the first person he went after, but I made sure you were the  _ last. _ ” 

Tim frowned. “That doesn’t make it right, Jay. He should have been reported to the police, he didn’t deserve to be  _ murdered.”  _

Jason’s eyebrow raised like he had just said something absurd. “The creep was a serial rapist and  _ yes, _ he did.” Normally he would make a quip about the teen having a very broad definition of the word ‘murder’, but decided against it. He did  _ not  _ want to start an argument about ethics right now.

“I only want to show you the best parts of me, the problem is that’s only like 10% of what I am. The other 90% is a mix of ‘broken’ and ‘crazy bastard’. But at least I can promise you that I've  _ never  _ hurt anyone that didn't absolutely deserve it.” For a moment, he considered telling him the story of what he used to be. It was an ugly tale of rejection and betrayal, leaving him half-dead and limping along on old wounds. The feeling didn’t last. “I want to find the right words to say to make this better, but I know they probably don’t exist. I love you and I don't want to lose you.”

“I love you too, Jay.” It sounded less like a joyous confession and more like a bitter admission like ‘ _ This _ broken mess of a creature was what his heart wanted’, but that wasn’t what Tim was thinking at all. “I don’t want to lose you either and if I have to drag you into daylight-I’m going to do it. I’m going to save you.” 

That blew Jason’s mind. “You’re crazier than I am.” He said with a laugh. The concern took a blowtorch to the ice on his heart, but he was a kitten promising to protect a tank. The sentiment was still very sweet.

Tim smiled for the first time in a while, “Yeah, I am.” His hands were resting on the man’s hips and he thought about how easy it would be to cover his chest in kisses. His hands slid down to caress toned thighs through thick denim and Jason sucked in a breath at the touch. 

“...Can we please reconsider the whole ‘glacier’ thing?” Tim asked, his voice sounded pitiful. All of his nerves felt raw as he leaned back on the couch, studying Jason with a hungry look like he was the only thing that could heal the pain.

“What do you want me to do?” He asked. It was a simple thing, and he knew too much about using pleasure in place of comfort. 

“Anything you want, I just really need to feel you right now.” He couldn’t shake the feeling that if he let him walk away now, he would never see him again. He didn’t realize what a dangerous thing that was to offer someone, and even he wasn’t sure what he wanted him to do.

Jason sent a short command through his earpiece, “Lou, hold all my calls and play some music while you’re at it.” The small piece of plastic was turned off and set on the table. Outside the room the club’s audio system was turned back on, thumping dance music would cover any noise they made and his lover deserved his full attention. Jason sat beside him on the couch, their thighs touching. “At any point you can tell me to stop and I will.” He promised. A part of him wanted to ask if he had done this before, but he was afraid of the answer.

“I know, I trust you.” Tim replied as a gentle touch brought their lips together, he could become addicted to this. 

Jason was taking it slow, easing him into the feeling of a body pressed against his. There was a hiss when he moved down to his neck, surprised by the press of teeth. It was a tease, a touch of pain on the teen’s neck before being soothed with a warm tongue. If he kissed it any deeper he would be tasting blood. With the needy way Tim moaned and arched into his touch, he probably could make the teen cum his pants with just kissing. As delicious as that idea was, it would have to wait for another day. Damn, this boy was good for his ego.

The right thing to do would be to give him a quick handjob, get his rocks off and be done with it. But it surely wouldn’t hurt to have a little taste? He tested the waters by rubbing circles onto his chest, rolling his nipples with his thumbs until they were hard. “Will you take your shirt off for me?” He asked with a smirk, leaning back to watch. 

Tim was flushed and panting, quickly pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Jason bit his bottom lip in surprise when he kept going. Dark pants were unzipped and slid down slim legs, soon joining the shirt on the floor. His pale skin was flushed with want, his body more athletic than he expected and looked so lovely offered up on black leather cushions. Only a thin pair of briefs were separating him from nudity and did nothing to hide the aching need between his legs.

Jason couldn’t hold back a growl at the sight, he shouldn’t be enjoying this. Give Tim what he needs and nothing else, make it quick but don’t make it personal. But he couldn’t resist the breathless way Tim moaned his name as he pulled on his holster-straps, rubbing himself against Jason for any kind of relief. The boy was so hard it  _ hurt.  _

There was a wet line of spit following the curve of his pectoral as his tongue found a pert nipple, licking and sucking until it became a pink pebble before doing the same to its match. His hands found the boy’s soft ass as he ground their hips together, showing him what a proper  _ rut  _ was. It felt so good to touch him like this. 

He knew there was something deeply  _ fucked  _ about how much he liked the idea of being his first. As if there was a carnal way he could write his name in that beautiful body and keep a part of Tim forever. 

He was technically a drug lord now, so why not enjoy some of the vices that came with such ill-gotten wealth? Tim would make such a stunning piece of candy on his arm, all dolled up with expensive gifts. He would have anything he wanted as long he still loved him.  _ Or at least kept pretending to, _ he thought as he ran a thumb over the boy’s rosy lips.

Oblivious to Jason’s inner turmoil, Tim wrapped his lips around the offered digit. His eyes half-lidded as he sucked, moaning softly as he thought of a different part of Jason’s anatomy in his mouth. 

“I am  _ so _ going to hell for this.” Jason breathed, pulling his hand away. “You have no idea what you do to me.” The wires of his restraint were fraying down to a single thread and then there was Tim, who took a razor to it at every opportunity. 

Tim nipped at the line of his jaw, saying “Then show me. I’m not made of glass, Jay.”

He already knew the teen was made of diamond, forged in fire, indescribably beautiful, and absolutely priceless. He ran a hand over Tim’s thigh, coaxing them to open up for him. Tim drew his hand back up to his hip, holding it over the elastic band of his underwear and giving him full permission to take it off.  _ Oh,  _ and how could he refuse such an offer? The last shred of his resistance was gone and tossed on the floor with a tiny pair of briefs. He wanted to feel Tim pinned underneath him, whimpering his name like it was the only word he knew.

Tim was spread out on his back and slowly stroking himself in anticipation. His skin was silky soft and inviting as he showed off how hard Jason made him. The throbbing length was slim but eager to please, he was going to be quite the heartbreaker when he got older. That is,  _ if  _ Jason ever let anyone else see him like this.

A side table had what he needed, and he wasn’t sure if he should take a condom as well. He didn’t want to think about the morality of what he was going to do, but it certainly felt more premeditated this way. Jason crouched down onto the carpet, kissing the teen’s inner thigh as he popped open a bottle of lube. A thick layer of gel was poured onto his fingers.

Tim moaned when something cold and slippery rub his entrance, moving in slow circles before breaching the puckered slit. The first one went in smooth, easily taking him up to the knuckle. The second was more of a stretch but it felt so good when Jason started massaging him from the inside. The tight ring of muscle started to relax and let him thrust his fingers in a parody of that Jason wanted to do to him. He couldn’t stop thinking about what it would feel like to bury his cock in his heat. Fuck him senseless and the sheer pride in seeing his cum leak out of that ass, rosy and stretched from being bred like a prince.

A tight grip on his shoulder pulled him out of his obscene fantasies and Tim whimpered like he was in pain. Before he could ask what was wrong, Tim found his orgasm and spilled it onto Jason’s chest. Body tightened around the intrusion as he came, embarrassed that he couldn’t stop his cock from pumping out a few more spurts. Adding to the sticky mess on his chestplate. “...Sorry, felt so good.” He said, mortified at his body’s betrayal. 

Jason assured him it was fine and reached over for something to clean himself with, but Tim stopped him. There was a shy blush across his cheeks as he offered, "Let me do it." It only made sense that he'd be the one to clean it up. 

He arched a brow in curiosity, fine with letting him do whatever he wanted. There was a jolt of surprise when the teen ran his tongue over the symbol on his chest, leaving him trapped somewhere between shocked and  _ massively  _ turned on. The image of cum spread on Tim's pink tongue was forever burned in his brain. 

Tim found it hard not to touch himself as he worked, whimpering at the bitter taste of his cream and Jason's armor. He made sure not a single drop was wasted and he wanted the man’s praise. One hand slipped down to rub the forgotten bulge between Jason’s legs. He was wearing a cup, because  _ of course he was _ . The man was a construct designed to make him die of sexual frustration before he even took his boots off. “Damn it, why are you still dressed?” He whined and Jason pulled him into a kiss, tasting the boy’s cum in his mouth. Briefly he wondered if he would enjoy the taste of his as well. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll have my cock in you soon enough.” He promised, changing their positions so Tim was sitting on his lap. One hand held him firmly at the waist as another ran down the curve of his ass. His body relaxing as he started fingering him again. The fabric of Jason’s clothes was rough against his bare skin as he rocked in time with his motions. Jason’s fingers were so much thicker than his own, and his muscles were still slack from the recent orgasm. There had been many nights where he had been locked in his room with a bottle of lotion, exploring desires he couldn’t say out loud. But it was completely different with another person’s hands on him. He was getting hard again and there was a sting of pain as a third finger stretched him further than he had ever been before. Jason needed him ready to take him.

“You’re such a good boy, Tim.” He moaned, pulling his fingers out so he could unzip himself. Tim’s blush spread to his ears when he saw the engorged length he pulled from his underwear.  _ That’s why he’s taking it so slow, this may have been a bad idea…  _ thought the last sensible part of his brain. The rest of him couldn’t resist the sight of a condom being rolled down that thick cock, like putting a bow on a present. Jason’s fingers were wet with lube as he stroked himself, coating it in a glossy shine. It was a gorgeous shade of ruddy pink and it was good to see he wanted this just as much as he did. Tim would be lying if he didn’t owe his sexuality to a Robin with green eyes and split knuckles,  _ this _ was well worth the wait.

The oiled tip pressed against his opening, his body putting up a feeble resistance before it pushed past the ring of muscle. There was a yelp at the intrusion, spreading his legs further to take the man inside. This was really happening. 

Jason Todd,  _ his  _ Jason, Red Hood, whatever name he wanted to use, was his hero, his enemy, and above all; his lover. 

There were obscene praises on how wonderful he was, how  _ hot  _ his body felt wrapped around his length. Broad hands eased him down onto the thickest part. With plenty of lube and a few shallow thrusts, Tim was sitting neatly on his lap. Every inch was inside him and his thighs twitched from the strain. His body never felt so warm and  _ full  _ impaled on Jason’s cock. Instinct told him how to move his hips, sating a deep need to offer himself up completely. There was a tension coiled right above the apex of his legs, only encouraged by the heat only his partner could give. Jason’s thigh holsters rubbed against him as he moved. To an outside observer, it may have looked sweet. 

Tim looked small and fragile compared to him, even more so as Jason cradled him in his arms as they rocked together. He held onto his strong shoulders as if he was a distraught lover taking comfort. Heavy breathing and a glossy hint of latex between their legs gave away the truth. The thin condom was the only thing separating their most intimate parts and Tim wanted to feel him raw. 

“ _ Mmm.  _ Wasn’t sure I’d even fit but you took  _ every inch _ , didn’t you, Babydoll?” He teased, nipping at Tim’s ear. A slow grind made the boy see stars. 

_ “Don’t...”  _ Tim pleaded.

“‘Don’t’ what?” He repeated, stopping as a million horrible thoughts started racing through his head. _Did he change his mind? Did it hurt?_ _I thought I was being so careful…_

Tim whimpered, urging him to move again. His words came out in pants and whines, “It’s not that, it’s not fair if I-ah,  _ twice, _ if you haven’t-” 

A lightbulb went on in Jason’s head, dissipating the dark thoughts. He grinned, saying “Ah, so that’s it? You’re worried a little dirty talk will make you lose it?” He adjusted their positions and gentle lovemaking suddenly turned into  _ fucking.  _ Tim screamed, throwing his head back in pleasure as Jason pounded into him. The hands on his hips wouldn’t yield and he was enjoying the way the teen was coming apart. “You make it sound like we don’t have all night for me to fuck you again. And again. And  _ again.  _ Cum all you like Baby, I’m just going to make you lick it up afterwards.” There it was, that  _ shudder.  _ Tim was getting close again. 

This was a side of the man he had never seen before, possessive and maybe a little sadistic, and he was  _ loving it. _ Tim threw that onto the growing pile of kinks the man was giving him. Tim held onto the base of his cock, trying his best to hold back but Jason wasn’t having it. He had discovered how sensitive his nipples were; fully using it against him to pinch and tug on the pink nubs. Teeth sank into Tim’s pectoral, marking a spot right above his heart. The pain, the pleasure, it was all too much and Tim came a second time with Jason’s cock buried in his ass. The sound he made was needy and pathetic. 

Jason was close behind, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chased his orgasm. He didn’t want this moment to end. Tim’s short nails digging into his back, his pale skin stained magenta in the light. He finally came when Tim whimpered his name, and Jason buried his face in the crook of his neck to keep from crying out. Regrettably, he had to pull out. Leaving Tim feeling strangely empty as Jason tied off the condom and threw it into the trash. The latex sagged under the size of the load, and Jason couldn’t remember the last time he came so much. 

He was back in a heartbeat to curl up with him on the couch, draping his jacket over Tim’s shoulders to keep him warm. They stayed like that for a while, panting and sweaty as their brains reset. 

Jason caught him glancing at the mess on his stomach, embarrassed as he muttered “You said you would-” The words died in his throat and he suddenly felt dumb. The man’s cocky tone came back, though he wasn’t sure how far he could run with this. “You know what you’re supposed to do.” 

A deep blush rose on Tim’s cheeks as he shifted down to clean up his second orgasm, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear to keep it from getting dirty.  _ This boy is going to be the death of me,  _ he thought as he watched him lick up his cum in an adoring way he could only describe as ‘worship’. “Do you like the taste?” He asked and Tim nodded before going back for more. As he finished, he drifted lower after deciding another part of him needed attention. 

Jason’s length was still huge, even flaccid, and he traced his way down with feather-soft kisses. He took the tip into his mouth, sucking lightly and pleased that he could still taste his cum on his skin. The cock twitched in interest at his touch. A missed drop was still warm and it was a lot saltier than his own. There was a low moan as he spread it around his mouth, savoring the taste. “Alright, that’s enough.” Jason said, easing Tim off of him and tucking himself back into his pants.

It was too much for him to bear and if he didn’t stop, Tim was going to find out the hard way what happens to pretty boys with naughty mouths.  _ Fuck,  _ he didn’t want to choke the poor thing. 

The teen looked smug as he curled back under Jason’s arm, pleased his unrepentant lust was mutual. But did he even have a plan for when he got here? He had hoped he would have a little more than  _ Rescue Jason Todd  _ scribbled on a napkin by the time they saw each other again. Finding out the Red Hood is Jason and  _ immediately  _ falling into bed with him would be what most tacticians would call a ‘risky move’ but all of his common sense went out the window when their lips locked. 

Even now, Jason held him like he was the most precious thing in the world, something to be loved and cherished as he kissed each one of his wounds. It was a lifetime since he felt like this, if he ever felt like it at all. Tim wrapped his arms around him and held him tighter. “Seriously. Why are you not naked?” He whined, burying his face into Jason’s neck. 

"You wanna know what the least sexy thing in the world is? The thirty minutes it takes for me to take all this off." He gestured to the layers of armor, buckles, holsters, and miscellaneous gizmos that made up his 'work clothes'. "Worst case scenario; I forget a dead-man switch and then four dudes with guns break the door down with my pants around my ankles. Try being a tough-guy commander after everyone’s seen my pancake-ass, it’s impossible." 

Tim started laughing and  _ ugh,  _ it was such a lovely sound. Jason never wanted him to cry again and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Tim smiled, saying “You’re ridiculous.”

He smiled back, “Eh, you love me for it.” and Tim agreed wholeheartedly.

They laid there for a while, curled up and enjoying each other’s warmth. Being with him was a wonderful vacation, but the real world always crept in no matter how tightly he locked the door. “Tim… I’m going up against some very bad people. People that won’t hesitate to hurt  _ you _ to get to  _ me _ .” He started, not ready to go back to the screaming agony that was his default but this was a talk they needed to have. “There are too many pieces on the board, too many variables, and once this starts I can’t always be there to protect you. I'd like to put you up someplace safe in the meantime if you'll let me.” 

He explained that he already had the perfect place in mind; a beautiful luxury hotel away from the dangers of Gotham. Tim could have fun hanging out by the pool and being a tourist. It would be a vacation and Jason could even join him as soon as it was over. He looked so hopeful, but Tim adamantly refused. 

“Absolutely not.” There was no way he was going to be shipped out of the city while Gotham descended into a war zone. 

Jason groaned. “ Hell, I don’t even know if  _ I’m  _ going to get out of this alive.” He said it with a concerned smile, like his death was something to joke about. 

“I have got a job I have to go to. I’ve got friends,  _ family _ , you can’t just ask me to disappear for two weeks. They already think I’ve been kidnapped. I love you, I love being with you, but I still have to go home.”

Jason didn’t like that answer. He didn’t say anything as he looked away, arms around Tim’s waist tightened possessively. Not ready to let go just yet. 

There was a crackle as the speaker in Jason’s helmet turned itself on, and Lou chimed in, “There’s room at the Chateau, sir. Your apartment has been compromised and it  _ is  _ the most secure position we have; easily defensible, comfortable for guests, Tim would be free to come and go as he pleases with minimal interference on his daily life,  _ and  _ you two can have supper together every night. It’s a win-win all around.” Lou: Red Hood’s second in command, decorated war veteran, master strategist, and  _ professional wingman. _

There was a brief flicker of warped domesticity as Jason enjoyed the idea of coming home after a long night of destroying his enemies to have a romantic date night with Tim. “Wait,  _ how long have you been listening Lieutenant?” _ The last part came out as a threat, it was never good when he used Lou’s full name. 

There was another crackle. “Since something about pool parties. I only popped in because Nightwing has been spotted in Gotham, wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t important.”

Jason groaned in frustration. All he wanted was a few hours with Tim and everyone he hated was showing up today to piss him off. “Tell him to fuck off and come back later.” He said before burying his face into Tim’s bare chest. The teen needed more hickies and that was far more important than annoying acrobats. 

There was a smile in Lou’s voice as he said, “Actually, I can do one better: Sniper Team 01’s got him in their crosshairs, we’re just waiting on your orders to pull the trigger.” 


	5. Chapter 5

The idea of Nightwing dead at his feet made Jason sit up at attention and he reached for his gear. “Do we know what’s going on? He’s  _ way  _ ahead of schedule.” He asked as Lou checked various reports for an update. He replied, “They’re keeping comm chatter to a minimum, but something’s got them spooked. Batman and Nightwing are active, Oracle’s running on all cylinders but so far no sign of Junior.”

Jason scoffed, saying “‘Course not, he has school in the morning and I think his grades are slipping. Isn’t he flunking French?” Lou made a joke about the city burning to the ground while Robin was stuck at home doing homework. Robin was second-string _ at best _ , so he didn’t matter either way.

_ How did he-?  _ Tim panicked and dove for his clothes. If he was Jason  _ Todd  _ then he would know their identities, but he hasn’t figured out that he was Tim Drake. The conversation at the table suddenly hit him like a truck, they were going after Batman and their  _ first _ kill was tonight. There was a sinking feeling that Nightwing and Robin were on that hit list as well. He dressed as fast as he could but his legs went weak the moment he tried to stand. Luckily, his lover was right there to catch him. 

He failed to squirm out of his grasp as Jason carried him out of the room, frustrated at how his body kept rebelling against his brain. He needed to focus, Nightwing was in danger and here he was being carried around bridal-style. He felt warm as Jason nuzzled his cheek, saying “C’mon, let’s go see the show.” His tone was soft like they were going to watch the sunrise together. There was a sweet ache between Tim’s legs that reminded him how  _ open  _ and  _ slick  _ he was, all that lube had to be staining his underwear by now. He was on the case of a lifetime but his biology had a completely different set of priorities. It wasn’t fair. “You don’t have to carry me, or do I just not weigh anything to you?” 

There was a smug grin on his face, “Nah, it’s like carrying a housecat.” Tim groaned,  _ Okay, that’s it. Tomorrow I’m starting on Bruce’s protein shakes. _

The club had already been demilitarized for tonight’s opening, and the meeting table was nowhere to be found. Lou had been waiting for them, and presented a tablet that he kept chained to his hip. The screen showed a live feed of an alleyway where Nightwing had just taken out a few gang members and was interrogating their leader. The video had more grains than a bowl of rice but Tim could still see that he looked like hell. 

He told Tim once that he didn’t even know that Jason was dead until he was invited to the funeral. Bruce had sent him a little white card in the mail and Dick would do  _ anything _ to keep history from repeating itself. He was pushing himself too hard and had taken too many hits in his frantic search to find his little brother. Tim was the only one that wasn’t happy about this.

Green eyes flicked between Lou and the screen as he weighed his options. There was a big death scene planned for him later, but there was something appealing about pulling the trigger now. It would be quick, violent, and anonymous, leaving the family to find his corpse in the street like some random tragedy. Vigilantes die everyday and why should he put more thought into Dick’s death than anyone put on his? 

There was a small tug on his sleeve before he could give the order, Tim pleaded to let him go.  _ He’s from Bludhaven,  _ Jason remembered and Nightwing was the closest thing they had to a resident superhero. It was a bit sad, really. “You know he’s not as nice as he pretends to be on TV.” He tried, but Tim still looked like he was about to shoot his puppy. 

There was a pang of guilt and he was  _ never  _ going to hear the end of it-but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill him in front of Tim. Jason sighed and kissed Tim’s forehead. “Call them off, he's a dead man walking anyway. Let him enjoy his last few days." He said with a smirk, mocking the man’s pain. Something certainly had the family rattled,  _ good,  _ he was going to keep it that way. Now there was the question of what to do with  _ Tim. _

He wanted to get him into a proper bed as soon as possible, but Tim's libido died the moment he mentioned splattering Nightwing's brains across the sidewalk. He was still dead-set on leaving and after the incident with the car he wasn't surprised he turned down a ride. With a heavy heart, he set Tim down. "Can I at least get you some breakfast?" He offered as a vain attempt to steal a few more minutes of his time. 

"Jay…" Tim started, his eyes downcast.  _ Right _ . He was making this harder than it has to be. He felt like a dog lying at his feet and whimpering at the door, scared that Tim wasn't coming back. No matter how much he replayed him saying 'I love you, I love being with you' in his head and flat out  _ knew _ he was being crazy, it didn’t make it any better.

"Then take this-" He dug around in his pocket and pulled out a thin black brick of a phone, it looked handmade. "It's a satellite phone. It'll work even if you're on the moon or ten miles underground, and a battery life of a century.  _ I worry _ , okay?" The teen took it with a ‘thank you’. They said their goodbyes and that was it. Tim had a life outside of his existence and was entitled to it, no matter how much Jason wanted to follow him home. 

Lou could practically hear the man’s anxiety, sounding off as the same high-pitched whine of an overclocked machine. "You got that look on your face like you want to lock him in your basement. You gotta let him go. He had two freaks attack him and found out you're a supervillain in less than 24 hours. That's a  _ lot _ for anyone to process, you both need a little space right now." He said, starting the process of tugging him out of that painful feedback loop. “Besides, if he doesn't come back, he was never really yours." He realized that he was giving relationship advice to a man that could kill him in eight different ways before he even reached for his gun.

Jason frowned at that and said, "You stole that from a song."

The old soldier shrugged. He did steal it, but that didn’t make it less true.

There was a sudden buzz on his phone, a single text from Tim reading ‘Sugar daddy’ with an emoji of a heart and a piece of candy. Jason had his head in his hands, trying to keep his face from turning red through sheer force of will. When he finally lifted his head, he was smiling. “Nothing’s wrong.” He said when Lou asked. "Do you think he likes me?" He added with a goofy grin. 

_ Maybe this will turn out okay,  _ he thought as he stretched his muscles and ran a mental diagnostic. He was overdue for a nap and he could feel dawn approaching like a cat dreading a bath. Breakfast also sounded good. The Chateau had  _ very _ good breakfasts. 

Lou would get his living quarters ready at their new base, making sure there were enough towels and a spare toothbrush ‘just in case’. Maybe put in a bouquet of roses too. The place was a fortress, and they were ready for any bats or birds that dared to crash the party. 

Meanwhile, public transport turned a twelve-minute drive into Tim’s forty-minute odyssey. Then he tacked on an extra twenty to make sure he wasn’t being followed. His boyfriend promised he wouldn’t, but he couldn’t be sure. A sensible person would have gone to a public place and called his family, but his rationality flew out the window when a  _ certain person _ was involved. Instead he went to one of their safehouses, shedding his clothes the moment the locks clicked behind him. He had to fix this narrative and destroy any evidence of their relationship.

Sure enough, the large bathroom mirror showed a body more like a bad art project than a healthy college student. There were large bruises, thin red lines from the crash, and soft beige bandages were from the Red Hood’s medical staff. Adhesive bandages could contain dust or a piece of hair from the people that treated him. Leaving even a shred of a clue was dangerous, but would replacing them be an admission of guilt? He decided to keep them for now.

He could only imagine how he looked when Jason carried him out; hair mussed, skin flushed, smelling like his sweat and cologne. There were ruddy marks on his throat and thighs from Jason's mouth, the hair between his legs was matted and sticky.

The clothes were piled up in the shower basin and a splash of rubbing alcohol helped it burn. It would be too obvious if just his underwear went missing. Hot water hit his skin and washed the ashes down the drain. His body didn't want to move, battered muscles still stiff and tender as they were soothed with a bar of vanilla soap. A soapy hand slid down his backside to find his opening was painful to the touch. It stung like needles, but he needed to clean himself thoroughly.

His mind started to wander back to that room as he moved his fingers in gentle circles. It was easy to imagine it was Jason touching him. The man's voice purring in his ear about his gape. 

_ Not enough _ , he thought as he spread his legs a little further. No one would  _ ever  _ check this far but he couldn't stop. Whimpering as pushed a finger in past the pain, after that it was pure bliss. His walls were still tender and oversensitive.

'I have to get it out of my system' was the excuse as he rested his head against the tile and pushed his fingers in deeper. It was better to get it over with than spend all day thinking about it. 

_ "Such a good boy, Tim."  _ Jason would say as he bent him down, running his hand down the teen's back. He was still so wet inside that he wouldn't need lube to fuck him again. And Tim would beg him for it. 

He curled his finger inside and came. A weak spurt of cum splashed on the glass, his balls still needing to recover from orgasming three times in a few hours. His lower half ached in protest at being used so roughly. A pained noise escaped his throat as he pulled out, feeling weak and helpless. 

Tim didn't know how long he stood there and let the warm water run down his skin. He hoped he would still be able to walk after this. 

Eventually he had to get out of the shower, making sure everything was clean before getting dressed. Makeup covered the marks he wanted to wear with pride. 

A switch unlocked a hidden room. Part of the wall opened up and he flinched when he saw Batman, Nightwing, and Robin staring down at him.  _ “Nerves” _ He said out loud, scolding a guilty conscience for turning the empty suits of his idols into judging sentinels. A button was pressed and the suits were taken out of his sight. 

He was supposed to be an impartial investigator,  _ an honest partner _ , but here he was; crossing a line for a man he just met and somehow knew his whole life. Barbara was right, he had been emotionally compromised and there was nothing he could do about it.  _ No _ , that was another lie. 

There was nothing he  _ wanted _ to do about it. 

The room was more of a bat-closet than a batcave, but it had everything he needed to tell him if he really was Jason Todd. The samples from the apartment were still pristine, kept safe in his belt even during the crash. He processed them the same mechanical way he had done a thousand times before and the computers whirred to life as it searched for a match. If the man he loved had ever been arrested or if his DNA had been put in any of the major databases, the batcomputer would find it. 

He had to be the first to know the truth and he didn’t trust Bruce or Barbara not to hide it from him. If he was right, they’d tell him three months later when Jason was locked away in a maximum security facility at the center of the Earth. Bruce would bury him in a hole so deep and dark, Tim would never see him again.

All official records of Jason Todd’s fingerprints had been destroyed twice, first when he became Robin and by the state when he turned eighteen. Bruce had the only surviving records. Tim watched the screen as hundreds of fingerprints were processed per second, frightened of the answer. Staring at the machine didn’t make it run faster but at least it made him feel better. A cup of coffee helped too.

Time passed and the computer chimed with the results, it was a perfect match. He didn’t know how to react to that, but now he had one last terrible thing to do before going home. There was one more bus ride.

The gate to the cemetery was locked, but it was a chain-link fence he had climbed before. The first time was right after Jason died, a child sneaking into leave flowers on his idol’s grave. There had been many times since then, every year on his birthday and whenever he needed to vent. The Jason buried there never said much, but he was a good listener. 

The gardener’s shed had a shovel and he broke the lock. There was no need to be subtle about what he was doing anymore. 

The headstone for Jason Peter Todd was exactly where he remembered. Bruce and Alfred had chosen a statue of an angel, old symbolism for a life cut short and a hope that he was somewhere better. Tim asked for forgiveness before he took the first shovelful of dirt, not sure if he was asking the statue or the ghost in his head. 

He wouldn’t be able to sleep at night without knowing if there was anything in that coffin. The DNA, fingerprints, all of it pointed in the same direction and his heart sang to him that it was all true, but hearts are too easily broken. The obvious deceptions were ruled out, but his Jason could still be a clone or even from an alternate universe. He had to know for certain.

A silent alarm went off the moment he broke the sod and Batman was standing beside him by the time he could see the lid. Tim was already covered in dirt and sweat, his shoes thickly caked with mud. Moving six feet of earth was hard work. 

Before he could reach for the lid, he was suddenly ripped away from his task and held by a hand like a steel clamp. He hissed in pain. Batman asked if he had lost his damn mind. The boy was supposed to be the calm one, the  _ rational one.  _ Tim didn’t even go out for ice cream without a plan and at least two backups. 

“What happened to you? Where have you been?” He demanded to know, livid that he found his youngest son like he hadn’t run away and had been missing for almost 24 hours. Each word out of his mouth was said like a slap to the face. Even Dick had dropped everything and came running. Tim was going to be so grounded it would make the  _ Phantom Zone  _ look like a vacation. "You ran off, didn't tell anyone  _ where _ you were going,  _ what _ you were doing, didn't take your gear- What if I had lost you too?” Bruce had been so focused on finding him that he didn’t notice anything else. He didn’t see the blood seeping through Tim’s sleeve or even where they were standing. He had recoiled in horror at the sight of the broken stitch. 

He didn’t apologize and Tim didn’t expect him to, instead they both stared transfixed at the coffin.

The once-rich color had faded and the polish rotted away in wide splotches. Tim had gone too far to stop now and rusted hinges broke apart with a few hits of the shovel’s blade. He was still afraid to look as he pushed back the lid, but there was no fetid stench of death to greet him. White silk lining had yellowed with age, but there were no signs that there was anything in the coffin other than air.  _ It was true. _

“Jason’s alive, I’ve seen him. I-”  _ I love him.  _ Tim said, his voice cracking before he caught himself. The realization hit him like a bus. “I spoke to him.” His head was spinning like a roulette wheel trying to decide between joy and misery. 

Soon they were back at the manor, telling him what happened over coffee and finger sandwiches. Research revealed the patch the militia wore marked them as the ‘Dead Men’, a private military group that primarily operated in the middle east and eastern europe. They were only active for a few years and eyewitness accounts put their numbers either less than 20 or more than 50. 

Their modus operandi was to cripple enemy communications, leaving them blind and disoriented before slaughtering their targets with surgical precision. They would be long gone before most people even knew what happened. Their targets ranged from drug cartels, weapons smugglers, and the occasional human trafficking ring. Their gear is high-grade, but they actively shunned mercenary work with one operative going on record even saying “If you can afford us, you’re not our clientele.” 

Someone out there was paying their bills, but there was no known political or criminal affiliations until the Red Hood. 

Tim talked about Jason, mentioning the stockpile of weapons and medical equipment but omitted major parts of the story. His adopted father didn’t need to know what happened in the back room or about the apartment.

Alfred took the news the hardest, afraid to even hope after all this time. Tim showed them the fingerprints, the DNA tests, the data from the home for wayward boys, the way he fought, everything pointed towards the same conclusion but Bruce still refused to call him ‘Jason’. The world’s greatest detective wasn’t blind to the missing pieces of Tim’s story. The teen knew a lot more than he was willing to say. 

_ “You got in his car and let him take you to an abandoned building.” _ He said in disbelief, rubbing his eyes as he tried to will away a headache. It wouldn’t be the supervillains that would kill him,  _ oh no _ , his children would give him a heart attack  _ long  _ before then. Sometimes he wondered how all of his hair wasn’t gray yet. He leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest as he said “This doesn’t prove anything.”

The teen slammed his hands down on the table in frustration, yelling  _ "What about the coffin-!" _

Bruce was a rock, always calm despite the insanity around him. "We have dealt with clones before, clones that even think they are the genuine article." He was already building a list of suspects. "Hugo Strange knows my identity, he could have taken the body-"

“Then why make him an adult?” Tim interrupted, piercing holes in his logic like a fencing match.

He didn’t miss a beat. “There was no way they would know exactly how Jason Todd talked or acted, the added years would hide the imperfections. They could make a convincing approximation, possibly using Nightwing as a base.”

“He’s not based off of Nightwing.” Tim corrected, recalling the fight with Hush.

Dick was highly acrobatic, using lightning-fast martial arts and pressure points to subdue his opponent. He could ricochet an escrima stick off of four surfaces to whack someone in the back of the head and make a great quip while doing so. Jason was all power and none of the subtlety. He didn’t see the point of dancing around his opponent when snapping someone’s leg was faster, easier, and did a damn good job stopping the fight. Tim took a deep breath, saying “He’s not evil.”

Bruce pulled out evidence of his own, photographs of a violent murder. “Which is why he beat a man to death in an alleyway. Barbara told me you met the victim hours before his death.” 

Tim’s mouth was tightly shut. “I met him at the club the night I met Jason. The guy was hitting on me, starting to get aggressive and wasn’t taking no for an answer. Jay stepped in and got him to back off. He went after him because he was harassing  _ me _ .” Tim realized his mistake the moment the word left his mouth. 

He didn’t call him the Red Hood, or even the blasphemous ‘Jason’, he called him  _ Jay _ . No one reacted to it, so maybe he was in the clear. He added, “Send me back in, he trusts me.” All he needed was one chance to talk to him, he was sure he could talk him down.

“Why do you think he trusts you?” Bruce asked with his arms crossed, he couldn’t understand why he was doing this and Tim just grit his teeth, unable to speak up.

Alfred had to ask, afraid to even hope after all these years. “Is there a chance that he’s actually-?” 

“Jason Todd is dead, the boy went cold in my arms. If there had been  _ any  _ shred of doubt or deception, I would have found it. Unless proven otherwise, we’re most likely dealing with a mentally-unstable clone.” Bruce stood up and started walking back to the cave, he stopped to add “You are grounded until further notice. Dick and I will take of the Red Hood.”

Alfred put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, reminding him that he was meeting Dr. Elliot tonight for the opera. He sighed, life always found a way to keep him from setting down the cowl for even a few hours. “I’ll have to reschedule.”

Tim opened his mouth to help but Bruce snapped, “No, you are  _ grounded.  _ Now go to your room before I decide to make you run drills until your legs fall off.”

Tim bit back the urge to scream some sense into him. They needed him right now, but instead he was sent to his room and he slammed the door shut. Alfred winced in pity for the boy and the hinges. 

“I know how much this means to you, and you have already cancelled on him twice. Surely the city will stand without you for a few hours? Master Richard is  _ more _ than capable.” The old man offered, appealing to his sense of guilt in the way only a parent can as Bruce groaned. Downstairs, the front door flew open with more wounded hinges.

Dick was getting ‘up close and personal’ with the usual suspects at the Iceberg Lounge when he got the message that Tim was found. “Where is he? Is he okay?” He asked between breaths, he probably grappled all the way here and was going to hug that boy so hard his spine would pop. His street clothes were haphazardly slapped on over his costume, and Alfred was unconsciously fixing his buttons. 

Bruce was gathering up papers, saying “He’s fine _ ,  _ other than the fact that he’s hiding something.” The ‘why’ bothered him more than anything. No matter how much he wanted it, he never had an open line of communication with his sons and he knew he was to blame for building those walls.    
  
His eldest wholeheartedly agreed, “Yeah, ‘cause you flip out.”

“I do not ‘ _ flip out’. _ ” He said, annoyed at the mere suggestion. 

“If you talk to him like it’s an interrogation, he’s going to clam up. Punish him for being honest and he’ll start lying. Not everything has to be a case, Bruce. Try being  _ open _ for five minutes and the results may surprise you.”

Instead of taking his advice, Dick was nudged towards his brother.  _ ‘It’s best to leave delicate work to the professionals.’  _ Bruce told him once, comparing comforting someone to bomb defusal while preferring the latter in every way. At least there were manuals for bomb defusal. 

Tim was lying on his bed, staring at the phone Jason gave him. Its face was a black screen as he debated texting him again, rather than resigning himself to a night of housework and essays. He had already altered the GPS to point back at his ‘apartment’ rather than Wayne manor. He shoved it under the pillow when there was a knock at the door. 

“Bruce having you play the ‘good cop’ again?” Tim asked, rolling over onto his back when Dick walked in. Bruce either didn’t have the guts or the interest to talk to him himself. 

“He wants me to. We’re worried about you, you usually don’t do this sort of thing.” Dick said as he sat next to him on the bed, resting his hand on the teen’s shoulder. The small touch was a reassurance that the worst hadn’t come to pass. Tim was alive and he was  _ home,  _ but he wouldn’t meet his gaze.

The teen shrugged it off like it was nothing. “I was following a lead and lost track of time. It happens.” He lied again, it bothered him how easily it was coming to him now.

“That’s not what happened, is it?” Dick asked and Tim went quiet. 

“The Red Hood, he’s- There’s good in him, but sometimes he doesn’t see it either.” Dammit, he was starting to doubt the truth. “You were at the docks this morning, I saw you through his security cameras. He had snipers trained on you. He ordered them to stand down because  _ I asked him to. _ ”

The teen wasn’t sure what reaction expected from that, but it wasn’t Dick licking his thumb and wiping Tim’s neck. The make-up rubbed off to reveal a nasty-looking hickey. 

His mouth fell open at the sight, turning up at the corners as he tried not to laugh. _“There’s a girl involved.” Oh, he was so busted._ They gawked at each other as Tim grew more embarrassed with each passing moment. “My baby brother’s all grown up…” He teased, faking a sniffle.

Tim’s face was red. “You. Tell. Nobody. And don’t you have a city to save? Now get out before Bruce gets paranoid.” He shoved him towards the door but Dick couldn’t stop grinning. “But he’s  _ always _ paranoid.” Tim put his head in his hands and groaned when he walked out of the room. 

Meanwhile, Lou stepped carefully to avoid losing his footing in the rat’s nest of computer cables covering the floor. This part of the Chateau was affectionately referred to as the  _ Nerd Cage, _ where their surveillance and hacking team set up shop. Multiple sets of eyes glanced up at him, realizing that he didn’t have any food on him before returning to their work chipping away at Oracle’s database. A case of energy drinks was torn open and passed around like lions feasting on a fresh carcass. Their self-appointed Nerd King had called him down after some important discovery. 

Honestly, Nygma wasn’t even supposed to be here. Or touching anything. But Scarecrow and him came as a bizarre package deal; like buying a box set of horror classics and getting a free glittery leotard. And just like real glitter, he would always turn up in the most unexpected places. At least he was feeling better. 

“So you know that pretty boy Boss hangs out with?” Nygma said as he glanced up from his screen, adjusting horn-rimmed glasses. He had a smug look like he had found a particularly juicy secret. 

The soldier’s eyes rolled so hard, they threatened to fall out of his skull. “Choose your next words  _ very carefully. _ ” He warned and the Riddler put up his hands to show he meant no harm.

“The boy seemed familiar so I did a little digging. Now let’s review what we know; he’s from a broken home, possible past trauma, suspiciously clean hair for someone that’s supposedly  _ homeless…”  _ The last part was grumbled. 

Lou’s interest was fading rapidly when he suddenly slammed a button on the keyboard and a video started playing on the screen. There was a familiar teenager dressed in a razor-sharp dress shirt. It was rolled at the sleeves with a microphone clipped to his collar. “He has a  _ shocking  _ resemblance to tech-genius Timothy Drake-Wayne, young CEO of Wayne Enterprises and Drake Industries. Do you know what this  _ means? _ " He asked, smug at his brilliant discovery and waiting for his applause. 

He was on stage at some tech expo rambling on about clean energy or some other hot-button topic silicon valley loved. Lou wasn’t paying any attention to what he was saying, instead fixated on  _ how  _ he was saying it. The Tim on the screen was poised and confident like a manicured show dog, a stark contrast from the kid seemed to turn invisible the moment he looked away. 

Lou shrugged, saying “That Bruce Wayne probably beats his kids like a rug? Can’t say I’m surprised. I mean, how bad of a parent do you have to be to have one of ‘em move to _freakin’_ _Bludhaven_ just get away from you?”

His laptop was snapped shut and pulled into his arms, saying ”We have to tell Mr. Hood!” in a loud whisper but Lou hadn’t worked with him all these years without learning a few things. Of course it was a shock to  _ them,  _ but this was the Boss they were talking about. He stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, “You honestly think he doesn’t know? Think about it; Boss and Hush absolutely hate each other, Hush has a massive hate-on for Bruce Wayne, and now Jason’s dating Bruce Wayne’s son. It’s all connected. We’re not messing this up for the Boss, and besides… We can’t get our cover story wrong if we don’t know anything else.” 

Nygma frowned, annoyed that the Red Hood beat him to the punch. The sheer amount of drama floating around the Wayne household would be a reality TV show’s dream, when suddenly an odd idea clicked. “Do you remember when he said ‘Kill Bruce Wayne and you’ve killed Batman’? What if he was speaking  _ literally  _ rather than metaphorically _? _ ” He asked and they stared at each other for a moment as they processed the idea before he added “The man is obviously a master of combat, trained in the most  _ dangerous _ of lacrosse fields.” 

They couldn’t hold back their laughter at the thought of the trust-fund dolt in a batsuit and tripping over his cape. Scarecrow was a nutcase, but Nygma was alright.

On the other side of the city, Jason’s bike was weaving through the narrow streets. There wasn’t much time left before the curtains went up but the feeling of cold air cutting into exposed skin kept him grounded. The Dead Men already went through all of the preparations anyway and they would call if something went awry. Every so often, he would glance back to the map projected in his motorcycle helmet and at the tiny dot that hadn’t moved in over an hour. He could be there in five minutes,  _ two  _ if he showed traffic laws where they could shove it. 

Would it be romantic if he kicked the door down and carried him the hell out of that life, over his shoulder if he had to? Jason stopped circling around the neighborhood and stopped in front of the building that was supposed to be the teen’s home. It was in crap shape, but it didn’t stop the desperate few that lived there anyway. He took the concrete steps two at a time. He had to tell him about what was going to happen, he couldn’t let Tim think he was a raving lunatic.  _ Okay. More of a lunatic than I actually am. _

Tim’s phone started ringing and he thanked whatever god was listening that it didn’t do it in front of his family. He dove to answer it.

Jason’s heart swelled with joy at the relieved way the teen said his name, he missed him too. “Baby, where are you? I’m in your building but I can’t find you.” He navigated his way through the halls, trying to find a sign for which door was his. 

Tim’s heart sunk in his chest. His family was still in the manor and when Bruce said ‘grounded’, it meant ‘house arrest’. He couldn’t even open a window without triggering every alarm they had. Of course someone would follow the phone’s GPS. Tim spoke in a panicked whisper, he couldn’t let anyone else hear him. “I’m sorry, I can’t leave right now.”

“Then I’ll come to you.” He replied firmly, and Tim could already picture that protective look on his face. 

“No!” He said, covering his mouth when he realized how loud that was. The hushed tones were back as he pleaded, “Please,  _ don’t.  _ I really want to see you but now’s not a good time.” He had to defuse this and  _ quickly. _

Alarm bells were going off in Jason’s head and he asked, “Tim, what’s going on? Are you in trouble?” His baby was frightened. There was a long stretch of silence on the other end. Tim couldn’t come up with a good lie and every voice in his head told him to come clean. Jason heard him cover the receiver when someone knocked on the door, Tim replied that he would be out in a minute. The voice on the other side was a man, but he couldn’t make out what he said. 

Bruce had called him down to supper, he wanted him to meet his friend Tommy. 

The teen was even more meek now, scrunching down as small and as quiet as he could in the space between the wall and his bed. “I love you, I have to go. I’ll talk to you as soon as I can.” He said in a rush before hanging up and shoving the phone under his bed. 

Jason didn’t have his real helmet with him, but that didn’t mean he was unarmed. _ Domino masks, never leave home without one.  _ He thought as he slipped it on over his eyes. Tim was coming home with him and some bastard was going to get very, very  _ hurt.  _

He kicked down the nearest door and drew his gun, screaming at a group of druggies that scattered like roaches. Someone had to know where Tim was.

Tim was usually dealing with school or one of his “extracurricular activities” to be properly introduced to Bruce’s friend. The pair were already teasing each other over who would win their next game of chess with Thomas Elliot certain he was going to win. The good doctor was yacht-club attractive, all gentle smiles and pastel shirts that contrasted neatly with his red hair. “Please call me  _ Tommy. _ ” He said as he shook the teen’s hand. He seemed decent enough, but his eyes kept drifting over to him in a way that made his skin crawl. 

_ So that’s the Red Hood’s whore,  _ he thought.  _ No wonder he knows so much about Bruce Wayne and Batman.  _ There was something poetically funny about Bruce’s youngest being railed by one of the people plotting to murder him. Tommy would have to seek the boy out when it was over, if the Red Hood didn’t snap his neck first. 

It was hard not to ask what the mercenary used to keep the boy chained to his side. Was it Cocaine? Pills? Or maybe he thought he would inherit the Wayne fortune after his father’s untimely death. As if there would be a penny left to spare after he got his hands on it. 

Bruce went on ahead as Alfred was pulling the car around. Tim wished them all a pleasant evening, but Tommy couldn’t resist taking advantage of their brief moment alone. An arm grabbed the teen’s before he could walk away, and he leaned in to ask softly “Does your father know where you go at night?” The teen changed suddenly, moving like a tense spring set free to lash out but he was ready for it this time. He’s already seen Wolf’s teeth once. 

Tommy put his hands up in surrender, smiling apologetically like this was all a misunderstanding. “Easy,  _ easy.  _ Your secret is safe with me, I had my rebellious phase too.” Twist the knife and give him just enough to leave him guessing before he joined his friend. 

Outside, Bruce was deep in thought wearing what his family referred to as ‘resting bat-face’. 

“You look concerned, what’s wrong?” Tommy asked, faking concern so well that even the great Batman was fooled. 

He switched back into Bruce Wayne, saying with a pained smile “Children are so rewarding, but they can be quite the headache sometimes.”

His friend laughed, “Amen to that, that’s why I’m  _ never  _ going to have kids.” That wasn’t  _ quite _ true. He would need to keep Richard and Tim alive for a little while after Bruce’s death, just to avoid suspicion. The eldest would be the easiest to get rid of; Bludhaven was so dangerous. Poor thing would be found killed in his own home after a break-in gone wrong. The Wayne family had always been prone to tragedy. Dealing with the young CEO would be a little more complicated, he would have to wrench control back from the company first. 

The two old friends talked about women and the idea of settling down. Bruce mentioned an on-again/off-again relationship with a complicated woman named  _ Selina.  _ It was all useful information when he took his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> True facts: Lou is based off of the militia commander from Batman: Arkham Knight. I liked how gruff he was and his fierce loyalty to Jason, que my disappointment when he was never named or shown in-game.


	6. Chapter 6

Bruce Wayne adored opera since he was a child, but it was so difficult justifying the time off to enjoy it. There was always a new disaster happening in one of his lives that demanded his attention and these gentle moments in his life were too few. Opera was a family tradition that he tried to pass on to his sons, but only one ever showed interest in the art. The teen had fallen in love with the passion and spectacle of it all, leaning against the railing as the music started. 

Bruce had many happy memories of the two of sneaking in candy and the teen studying Italian so he would never miss a beat again. He could almost imagine him sitting next to him and grinding a red vine between his teeth, but that was a very long time ago. His middle son was dead, and nothing was going to change that, not even some monster stealing his body. With the shot of a gun he was suddenly forced back to the present. 

He was at a charity event with an old friend when Harley Quinn decided to make an appearance. The music came to a screeching halt the moment she fired a gun on stage. The audience erupted with screams and gasps. She laid out her demand, the bells on her hat jingled as she moved, “Alright ladies and germs, hand over Bruce Wayne and the only tragedy tonight is y’all paid a thousand bucks a seat to watch this crap.” This wasn’t a robbery, but her goons weren’t above taking a few watches and jewelry while they looked for her target. 

He paged Dick the moment he saw her colors, and he had to keep damage to a minimum until Nightwing arrived. He called out to her and in a flash, the clown princess had leapt up to their balcony. Harley gave him a painted smile as she pressed a gun to his chest. “Sorry darlin’ this ain’t personal, but a gal’s gotta save her man.”

“Joker? You’re better off without him.” Bruce quipped. He was about to knock the weapon away when something caught her attention.  _ Tommy.  _ The doctor was crouched down behind some chairs, trying to call the police on his phone. Too brave for his own good.

“Oh no, you  _ don’t _ ! No rainin’ on my parade!” She backhanded him so hard he fell to the floor. Tommy was wearing a necklace, a jade ring on a golden chain.

It was the same one he had worn since they were children, a gift from his mother that only grew more precious after she died of cancer. Bruce knew too much about a mother’s things being taken at gunpoint. 

“Ooo, shiny! Don’t mind if I do.” She said, snapping the delicate chain as she tore it from his neck. There were police sirens screaming over the chaos and she took off running with Tommy hot on her heels. He would rather die than let that memento be taken

Bruce made the snap decision to change into Batman, but each second it took to put on the suit was an eternity too long. By the time he was ready, Harley Quinn had already doubled back for Bruce Wayne. She wasn’t leaving empty handed and she ran into her mortal enemy backstage. “Outta my way Bat-breath!” She yelled and a quick strike to the base of the neck knocked her out. That was one problem dealt with but where was Nightwing? He should have been here by now, and where was Tommy? The sound of a gunshot answered one of his questions. 

_ Not again,  _ he thought as he took off running but his fears were soon confirmed. 

Lying like one more piece of trash between the cans was the body of his childhood friend. There was a bullet wound in his chest that still oozed blood. Bruce was too late. He was always too late and they couldn't even bury him with his mother's necklace. 

A sound pulled Bruce back from his pain, a manic giggle that came free with every nightmare. 

It was the Joker, standing there grinning with a smoking gun. Proud of another life ruined.  _ “You-!”  _ He roared, decades of hate and rage threatened to burst through in an instant. He threw him against a wall and the Joker started laughing as he punched him in the mouth. Every horrible moment came flooding back in an instant; each victim, the horrors done to Barbara, his son… This monster had to  _ suffer.  _

He couldn’t stop himself as reinforced gloves pounded into him like brass knuckles, the man wanting nothing more than to beat him until he stopped twitching. Blood and white greasepaint turned pink over the thick fabric of his gloves and left it sticky. Joker tried to speak, “Stop me if you’ve heard this one-” Another sock right to the jaw chipped a yellowed tooth. “But I didn’t do it!”

More laughter as he repeated, “I didn’t do it! At least kill me for something I actually did!”

Dick’s voice came through his earpiece, cutting through the darkness like the last sane voice in a world gone mad. “Sniper on the roof, pursuing now!” For once in his miserable life, Joker was telling the truth.

***

On a rooftop across the street, Dr. Elliot’s real killer watched Joker’s beating with tired resentment. After all the lives that clown had ruined, he had hoped for so much more. Honestly, he should have given up hope when he chose to go see  _ Pagliaccio.  _ How could Bruce,  _ of all people,  _ stomach a show with clowns in it? Maybe he really was that far gone. 

Jason shifted his rifle and lined up another shot. He knew for a long time that Bruce never cared about any of them, but it still hurt to see it with his own eyes. Deep in his heart of hearts he had wished Bruce would finally snap his neck. 

The others didn’t need to know that he had cut this  _ far  _ too close, almost missing his deadline looking for Tim. He could put the fear of the Red Hood into these people but he didn’t have the time to check every apartment. With a heart heavy with guilt, he had to leave the teen behind. 

This was the night he spent so many years fighting for. All of the blood, sweat, and tears building up to the moment he would finally be free from this nightmare. “I have the shot.” He said as he aimed for the weak point at the base of the cowl. He would find a way to make it up to him somehow.

Scarecrow’s voice came over the radio, “Not now Mr. Hood, we must break him first.” He tried to be soothing but Jason was tired of waiting. Two more bullets and it would all be over. 

No more bats. No more clowns. 

Just  _ peace _ .

His finger tightened around the trigger before an escrima stick was thrown against his hand, making him miss the shot.  _ Where the hell is my spotter?  _ He fumed, guessing Nightwing already took them out. Hush would bolt the moment there was trouble and they couldn’t afford having Scarecrow get arrested now. Just like always, Jason was on his own. 

After a complicated grapple-and-flip, Dick Grayson landed gracefully on the roof. The gravel barely murmured under his feet.  _ He always made it look so goddamn easy.  _ The jerk was even smiling as he introduced himself, “Hi, my name is Nightwing and I’ll be the one kicking your ass this evening.”

The Red Hood tossed the rifle aside, and drew his pistols. “You  _ wish _ .” He scoffed and opened fire. The acrobat dodged it unscathed, Greyson was just as fast as he remembered. 

The first Robin had martial arts down to a disorienting ballet of whoop-ass. Watch the birdie and miss the escrima stick ricocheting off a wall, watch the sticks and get kicked in the face. After all, who needs a utility belt when you routinely saved the world using two sticks, a smoke bomb, and a winning smile? God, it made Jason  _ sick.  _

Jason had to work himself to the bone to get the skill Mr. Perfect got from falling out of bed in the morning. He didn’t intend to kill him tonight, but he liked keeping his options open.

Nightwing thought the fight was strange. Red Hood seemed to preternaturally know where his real attacks were coming from. The man wasn’t shooting blindly either, Red Hood was trying to catch him mid-flip where it was too late to change direction. He had to twist his body to keep a bullet graze from turning into a slug in his stomach. Hitting the man was like smacking a brick wall, he didn’t know how much of it was the armor or if this guy was simply immune to pain. Blunt force was obviously not the way to go.

Red Hood didn’t notice the change until he felt blades catch on his side. They tore open the armor just below his ribs and tasted blood. Nightwing was way too proud of himself with his batarangs slipped between his fingers like curved claws. One of the blades was tucked into a sterile compartment of his suit, they would figure out who this mystery man was soon enough. 

Jason grinned under his helmet as he touched the cut. “You’re finally getting serious.”

The hero shrugged like he wasn’t working up a sweat. “Yeah, I gotta hurry this up. There’s a new episode of the Bachelorette on tonight."

There was a laugh as he replied, “You’ve always been such a  _ dick _ .”

That knocked the smile off Nightwing’s face.  _ Did he just-?  _ No, he was reading too much into it. Red Hood tucked his guns back into his jacket and for a moment, he thought he was going to surrender. No such luck.

A non-verbal command was disguised by a nervous twiddle of his fingers and the circuitry in his helmet lit up like a Christmas tree. He pointed at Nightwing with his fingers in the shape of a gun and offered him a deal, “How about you, me, and one shot to see who’s better? Winner takes all.” 

Dick sized him up and weighed his options. The man had skill, but he was built like a brawler and had the same paranoid over-preparedness that made Bruce’s suit the heaviest thing known to man. No wonder he stayed and fought when everyone else bailed, he couldn’t run away even if he wanted to. “It’s not a bet if it’s a sure thing.” He said, grinning. 

Nightwing closed the gap in seconds and right before he entered striking distance, Red Hood’s hand shifted to the side as he yelled  _ “Bang!”  _ An electric voice in his ear chimed,  _ Confirmation accepted  _ and a building went up in flames. 

The hero’s step faltered when he heard the explosion three blocks away, turning in time to watch a plume of dark smoke rise up from the skyline. “ _ That  _ would be Lady of Liberty Hospital. It would be a crying shame if some madman disabled the sprinkler system when they installed all of those explosives.” Jason smiled as he took a part from his vest pocket and tossed it to him. “Here, you’ll need this.”

Nightwing looked down at the circuit board in his palm and had a split second to make a choice. This new criminal wasn’t a punk, he was a  _ bastard  _ that would sacrifice a lot of innocent people for his getaway. His hand tightened around the part and he gave him a glare that was a promise. Red Hood could run, he could hide, but Nightwing would see him behind bars.

And like a good, predictable little hero, he chose the burning building over catching Tommy Elliot’s killer. He would probably try to justify it later with something like “It’s what the good doctor would have wanted.” or some other horsecrap like he hadn’t been the one to suggest burning it to the ground.

That left Jason with the main course and he called in for a status report. The clowns got dragged away by the cops along with Tommy’s body, and Scarecrow was probably already back home with a cup of tea. A few of his men got a little scuffed up but they’d be back in the saddle in no time. Green all across the board and everyone accounted for except-  _ aw hell. _

***

Lou took his foot off the gas and twisted the steering wheel as hard as it could go, letting inertia slide him into a razor-sharp turn before slamming the pedal back down. The speedometer flirted with triple digits and the air stunk of burning rubber. “Exit stage left, pursued by Bat! Do not send support, I repeat,  _ do not send support! _ ” He shouted into the comm before throwing it out of the window. Getting Batman pissed off enough to chase him was the easy part, now he had to escape. The soldier was the expendable one, the Boss wasn’t. 

Batman was following him with his grappling gun and used his cape to glide on the air. He had the advantage that he could move ‘as the crow flies’ rather than being stuck dodging traffic, but this was a militia vehicle and he would be damned if he went down without the fight of his life. 

Trash cans and cardboard boxes went flying when he twisted the wheel, cutting the car through an alleyway. He could use that momentum against him, the sudden shift in direction turning the Bat into a yo-yo. Batman would need time to reorient and each second increased his chances of losing his target. 

Lou needed an underground parking garage, a tunnel, anything to render his flight useless. When he finally thought he was home free, there was a hard thump as Batman landed on the roof of the car. A batarang punctured the roof and Lou answered with a few shots of his pistol. Hopefully there was a body shot in there somewhere but if he was wounded, the Bat didn’t show it. The soldier was running out of options and as the metal roof was pulled back, he felt like a canned sardine about to be eaten. 

The bridge was his last chance, he knew as he unhooked his seatbelt in preparation. The last few headlights flashed past as other cars dove for the sidewalk to get out of his way. One more sharp pull and the vehicle leapt over the median before crashing right through the bridge’s railing. Metal screamed as it was bent and torn apart. He pulled the seat’s emergency release lever and it was time for all that training to pay off. 

The world shifted into slow motion as the car went airborne. The seat went flat as he was pushed into the backseat, another lever and a good hit with his elbow popped the backglass out of the seal. Batman was still chasing the car and he had his exit. Lou’s own grappling gun sent him flying back to the bridge by the time the car touched the water. 

He was standing on solid ground again but this feeling rose up from his stomach that something was horribly wrong. His heart fluttered out of control in his chest, like his blood turned into an over-carbonated soda. In his head he was still trapped in the car, pounding on the glass that refused to yield as water flooded up to his legs. The bay’s water was freezing from the September chill and greasy from pollution. His brain screamed at his legs to move but they refused to obey. The instructions were followed to the letter and he was on solid ground, so why wouldn’t his hands stop shaking? A black cape filled his vision before he could find the answer. 

***

Nightwing heard Batman’s voice through his earpiece as he asked, “How’s the hospital?” in the same bored, slightly judgemental tone he always had. 

“There was nothing wrong with the sprinklers, they were already on by the time I got there.” Nightwing coughed as he waved dark smoke out of his face. “There’s a lot of smoke and flame but it’s not burning very hot. Minor structural damage, few burns, no casualties reported yet. So far it's all very amateur-hour.” The fire looked a lot worse than it actually was, most of the damage being reserved to the new wing that was under construction anyway. It would probably take longer for the paperwork to be filed than the actual repairs. 

So far the motive didn’t make any sense. Red Hood was a drug lord right? Why would a guy fixated on Gotham's cocaine circuit kill a famous surgeon at a charity event and blow up his hospital? What on Earth did he have to gain from this?

“No. The explosive was exactly what it was supposed to be; a distraction.” His disappointment made it sound like he was supposed to know that the moment he saw the smoke. Leave it to Bruce to ruin even the tiniest of victories. “However there is good news; I’m bringing in the Red Hood’s second-in-command for interrogation.” He added, glancing over at the man currently tied up in his trunk. 

They had met back up the police station and added their notes to Gordon’s. Dick offered to take over the investigation with Barbara. It would give Bruce some time to mourn or at least wash his friend’s blood off of the suit. Of course Bruce assured him he was fine. The man was Batman first and human second. Grief would have to wait until the killer was apprehended and until then, he had work to do. 

Lou regained consciousness tied to a chair with a bright light shining in his face. His gear was strewn out over a table out of his reach with the more interesting pieces had already been taken by a certain bat.  _ So this is the famous Gotham city police station?  _ So far he wasn’t impressed. The place stunk of bravado and stale piss. “Friends call me  _ Lou _ , it’s short for Louis Tenazzio.” He said to the cop across the table with the same, slightly-smug tone as if he was speaking at an employee mixer. The commander was already trying his luck with his bonds, but those knots weren’t coming undone anytime soon.

Batman, Nightwing, and the Commissioner were watching him from behind a one-way mirror. Gordon rolled his eyes, as far as fake names go that was barely a step above calling himself  _ Lou Tennant.  _ Instead he set down a plastic bag containing the dog tags they found around his neck. They were old, scratched up and rust had already started chewing on the corners. 

“His real name is Andrew Charleston Gantt, former lieutenant first-class of the United States Army. Him and his entire squad were declared dead for years after being captured by terrorists in the Middle East. Turns out the name  _ Dead Men  _ was more on-the-nose than most people thought.” The date he died was scratched into the surface. He rubbed his eyes and gestured to his old friend. “So a private military group that has never operated inside the US, suddenly came to Gotham to kill a doctor at a charity event? Please chime in if any of this starts making sense.”

Officer Montoya walked in with a package addressed ‘To Batman’, but there was no return address and it wasn’t with the usual mail shipment. “You think it has something to do with Dr Elliot’s murder?” Asked Batman and she showed them a DVD in a clear plastic case with the words “Victim #2?” written in black marker. “That and the fact that the first person that touched it started screaming about spiders might be a clue. Don’t worry, forensics washed it first.” She added, starting to consider transferring to Metropolis.

Batman started the video on one of the GCPD’s computers and saw a room in disarray. It had been a cheery home office once, with potted plants and old ballet trophies displayed with pride. This was Barbara’s home. The footage was taken from a camera placed on her desk, the direction of the light said it was early afternoon but the curtains were drawn tight to block out the sun. Her computer equipment had been ripped from the walls and the door was hanging broken at an angle. 

Scarecrow was sitting at the desk and there was the sound of movement just out of frame. Dick’s heart sank into his stomach when he realized he was sitting in her wheelchair. He started speaking, his voice was the feeling of an ice cube being dropped down the back of someone’s shirt. “All my life I had been looking to unlock the secrets of the mind through the perfect arrangement of atoms, but someone has shown me that  _ true terror  _ is not simply a chemical reaction but rather...” He stopped, tilting his head in amusement after a loud  _ slap _ and a woman yelped in pain. “The complete absence of  _ hope _ .” The maniac added with a hint of a smile, his eyes cold and glossy like a doll’s. 

”Batman has failed as a detective, a hero, a protector, and soon all of Gotham will bear witness to the destruction of all he holds dear.” The Red Hood picked up the camera as Scarecrow spoke, turning around to show Barbara tied up and gagged with a piece of cloth. She had some scrapes and bruises, but she was alive and fighting. The sight made him sick and Nightwing regretted not beating him into the dirt when he had the chance. 

“If you’re watching this Batman, this means you have already failed the first two tests; Dr. Elliot is dead and the Joker  _ isn’t.  _ So here’s how this game is going to work: we’re going to hunt down and kill everyone you supposedly care about. You’re going to try to stop us, fail miserably, and poor little Barbara’s going to be the next one to die. Let’s face it, you couldn’t even protect your tech support.” He pressed a gun against the side of her head, just above her ear. “ _ But _ there is a way to end this right now, I’ll even give you three choices on how to do it. You can kill me, the Joker, or you can finally take some responsibility for the first time in your life and blow your goddamn brains out. Pick one and I swear to you _ , everyone _ goes home safe.” 

Barbara managed to spit out the gag and screamed into the camera, “Don’t listen to them, he’s lying! It’s not-!” In a fit of rage, Red Hood backhanded her and the video cut to black. 

Nightwing stormed into the interrogation room and kicked Lou’s chair, sending him slamming against the painted concrete floor. “Where is Barbara Gordon?” He growled, “I assure you it will hurt less if you tell us now.” They  _ knew _ where the watchtower was, they even knew she was Oracle. Dr. Crane was the personification of the phrase ‘creepy bastard’ and routinely drove psycharistrists to the noose. They had to get her away from him  _ right now _ . There was no time to play nice.

Lou spat out some blood and just laughed, his teeth stained red as he grinned with pride. “I watched my brothers-in-arms get gutted alive by terrorists, do you  _ really _ think a couple of bad Halloween costumes is going to scare me? Red Hood told you what you needed to do to save her. Don’t embarrass yourself trying to stop him, he’s ten times the man either of you will  _ ever  _ be. There’s not a person on the planet that’s a rougher or  _ tougher  _ motherfucker than he is.”

Nightwing drew one of his escrima sticks and it flickered with electricity. He would  _ make him  _ talk _ ,  _ but Bruce put a hand on his shoulder before he could do something he’d regret. Dick had saved him earlier that night, now it was his turn to return the favor. “The Red Hood was the one that saved you, wasn’t he?” Bruce asked, picking Lou back up off the floor. 

Lieutenant Gantt’s ‘death’ was a few months after Tim put on the costume. Jason Todd would have been seventeen and the Red Hood was the real founder of the Dead Men, not Gantt. He didn’t like how smoothly the timeline was clicking together and the Todd theory was explaining too much. It wasn’t true, it  _ couldn’t be. _ He knew Jason, he loved him like a son. The boy he knew would never do this.

“We were trapped in the middle of a hot zone and someone decided we weren't worth the ransom, and sure as  _ fuck _ not worth a rescue. ‘Thank you all for your service, now drop dead so we can turn it into a nice recruitment video.’ The world left us to die and he said ‘ _ no’.  _ But he wasn’t the Red Hood back then, just some crazy kid that thought single-handedly taking out an entire terrorist cell and rescuing a bunch of half-dead soldiers was a fun way to spend an afternoon.” There was a bitter laugh at the memory. 

A teenager in stolen clothes with a rifle strapped to his back and a knife on his hip. He found them, shoved their guts back in and gave them something to believe in. Someone found value in a group of second-rate rejects. “The man works on a level you can’t even  _ begin  _ to understand. And if you’re to blame for even a  _ fraction  _ of what he went through, you deserve everything that’s coming to you.” Boss would’ve been proud, he kept them distracted enough that they didn’t notice him cutting the cord. They missed a piece of glass from the crash that was stuck in his sleeve. “Now I’ve got nothing left to say to you.”

Batman knew something was wrong but he wasn’t fast enough to stop him. In one fluid motion, the glass was shoved into his mouth and he  _ sliced _ .

Batman and Nightwing were on him in an instant, restraining him before he could swallow it or a part of his tongue. Blood filled his mouth and ran down his chin as he coughed. There was a deep slash across his tongue and his cheek had been sliced open to give him half of a Glasgow frown. Sedating him was the only way they could give him medical attention. EMTs took him away but how much speech the man would have after that was questionable at best. 

Bruce went back to talk to Gordon and was punched square in the mouth. He didn’t bother trying to dodge it. “All this time, I thought they were going after her because of me. But no… She was working for _you!”_ He shouted, livid from betrayal. The DVD case sat open out of arm’s reach. He knew. “How dare you get her involved in this?” 

Gordon shoved him back as hard as he could, Bruce barely felt a tap though his armor. “I believed in you, I  _ trusted _ you! She’s my  _ daughter for God’s sake _ and now she’s in the hands of those maniacs _!? _ ”

“She’s a strong woman, Jim. We’re going to find her.” Gordon looked at him like his promise was worth less than a monopoly dollar. They needed to get back to the cave. 

Dick was still in shock after what happened. When the two heroes were alone again he said, “Gantt would rather mutilate himself than  _ talk to us. _ ” That wasn’t fear, that was _ loyalty.  _ He was mortified as he turned to Bruce to ask, “What the hell are we dealing with here?”

“Robin thinks it’s Jason Todd.” Bruce replied, trying to lighten the mood. He expected his eldest to laugh.

Dick’s eyes went wide as he condensed an entire novel’s worth of confusion to a single word;  _ “What?” _

“I noticed you conveniently left  _ that  _ part out of the briefing.” Dick fumed, putting his hands on his hips. The man made him watch a powerpoint presentation on the militia but left this out? 

Bruce crossed his arms, stating “ _ You’re  _ the one that decided to move to Bludhaven.” as if that explained anything. 

“You’re  _ still  _ upset about that? And don’t blame me for your inability to pick up a phone!”

“His theory was ridiculous and didn’t bear repeating.” He had hoped in vain that the yelling would be over by the time they got back to the cave. He was wrong.

Before Bruce could stop him, Dick was already accessing Tim’s notes on the Batcomputer. Tim had already typed them up and added them to the dossier on the Red Hood out of spite. “No, a ridiculous idea was the bat-chalupa cannon I invented when I was ten. This is a lot more than a ‘silly hypothesis’” _That’s it,_ he was going upstairs. 

Tim was sitting on the edge of his bed, holding his tablet tightly as he watched the news footage on the attack. Suddenly his door flew open and the Robin costume was thrown into his face. ”Suit up, Barbara’s been taken hostage by the Red Hood. I’m declaring you un-grounded.” Dick explained with an annoyed Bruce hot on his heels. 

“You don’t-” He started when Dick shut his mentor up with a look. This was about doing the right thing, not just about being  _ right.  _ Yes, what Tim did was dangerous and irresponsible, but family is a lot more important than a missed curfew. “What? I don’t have the  _ authority?  _ If Tim’s right, we need all the help we can get.”

Bruce tried to get him to calm down, “You’re jumping to conclusions.”

Dick looked at him like he lost his mind. “Am I? Then let me break it down for you; this Red Hood and his men have gear that looks suspiciously like ours, including body armor made out of a metallic polymer you haven’t finished inventing yet. He knows us well enough that he went after Thomas Elliot and  _ Barbara.  _ They broke into the clocktower in broad daylight, kidnapped her and none of us knew it happened. Even if this isn’t Jason Todd come back to haunt us,  _ this is not good. _ ” The last part he said slowly as if to a stupid child. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, daring Bruce to call him crazy.

Tim glanced between the two of them, this was a lot worse than he thought. “How long have you known she was gone?” He asked and Bruce sighed. “Since Nightwing’s encounter with the Red Hood, she would have noticed him transmitting a signal for the explosives.” He replied. 

Dick’s mouth turned into a narrow line and he started towards the door. Another thing Bruce was keeping from him. “The night’s still young and I promised him an ass-kicking.” Bruce grabbed his arm and pulled him back, “You’re worried, so am I, but let me process that blood sample first before we make any sudden moves. We need to know exactly what we’re dealing with and any signs of genetic tampering or artificial aging will be most visible there. Give me that time.” 

His eldest son was quiet for a moment, before letting out his anger out with a deep sigh like deflating a balloon. He hated it when Bruce was right. Reluctantly, Dick agreed but only on the condition that he was kept in the loop.

Bruce got to work immediately, already dreading the amount of work ahead of them and each moment they wasted took Barbara further away from them. It was in that moment he realized how much he had come to depend on her skills.

Gordon had let them take the Lieutenant’s gear to study and within minutes Oracle could have told him who manufactured it, who ordered it, and even have the schematics ready for him if she wasn’t already building counter-measures. There was one other person that could use her system, but he wasn’t sure if he could trust Tim at this moment.

Tommy Elliot already had a will, a part of him had always anticipated an early death just like his father. It was another thing the old friends had in common, except it was Tommy dead in an alleyway instead of him. He had already made arrangements to donate his assets to charity, leaving only enough for a pauper’s funeral.

Bruce put in an order for more flowers and a sizable donation to the hospital’s reconstruction. Bruce adjusted his microscope for a better look at the blood sample and blocked out stray thoughts of loved ones he’s lost. 

The picture came into focus as his eyes darted from red cells to white, he had seen this mutation before. In a flash, the batcomputer came to life and showed him the medical file he was looking for. The two samples were placed side by side. “What is it?” Tim asked, trying to see whatever clue his mentor was chasing. Even Dick looked up from his task, curious to know what was going on. 

The second sample was labeled ‘Ra’s Al Ghul’ and it was like looking at Stage One and Stage Four of the same disease. “This was caused by a Lazarus pit, though I have not seen such a mild case.” Ra’s cellular structure is barely human at this point, a side effect after being brought back so many times. If anyone used one of his pits, he would know and chase them down to the corners of the earth. Bruce had to hear the truth straight from the demon’s mouth.

“Robin, you’re coming with me as apparently I can’t leave you alone. Nightwing-” Dick waved him away and told him to just leave already. He didn't need to make a long flight longer. Alfred and Dick would hold down the fort, like they always did. They were taking the Batjet, but in reality it was little more than a modified missile. Perfect for when you needed to get halfway around the world but had no time to do it. 

_ Great.  _ This was  _ exactly  _ what Tim wanted. A long flight trapped in a tiny space while Bruce waited for him to crack him like an egg. They grabbed their gear and settled into the cockpit with the iron door locking tight behind them. Shockingly it was Bruce that broke the uncomfortable silence. “So...” He started, “I think it’s time you told me about  _ Jay. _ ”

Tim’s soul cringed in pain. He was so busted.


	7. Chapter 7

Lou had been transferred to Blackgate’s medical wing and kept under tight suicide watch after what happened at the police station. He didn’t respond to their prying and was considered too dangerous to be trusted with a writing utensil. That, or maybe they couldn’t afford a box of crayons. 

There were no windows he could mope in front of, so he was stuck staring at a poster on sanitation and the dangers of trying to smuggle things up your butthole. 

The door opened as a guard strolled in to check on him. The prisoner didn’t even have to look up to know it was Jason in a stolen uniform. 

Careful hands peeled back the bandage to examine the jagged cut across his bottom lip. He whistled at the sight. “Dude. If I knew you were feeling nostalgic, we could’ve gotten kebabs or get plastered in Dubai. You didn’t have to reenact how we met, although I do appreciate you being less messed up this time.” His hands followed along with his words. It was sign language.

Lou replied slowly at first, trying to shake off the rust on a skill he hadn’t used in years. Occasional words were incorrect or adverbs were skipped over, but Jason had no trouble understanding him. “I froze. Like a rookie out of basic.”

Jason shook his head, replying “You were having a panic attack, happens to the best of us.”

He didn’t like that answer. “I’m supposed to be better than that. I was close and then I got stupid.” He knew what the soldier was going through better than he was willing to admit. The way he still refused to meet his gaze said it all. He was plagued by that gnawing need to be worthy of this second chance, to prove that he was still good enough to stand at his side. The Red Hood’s right-hand man got captured the first time he ran into the bat, how the hell could he hold his head up high after that? He was afraid that his Boss would use this as an excuse to shove him onto the sidelines, or worse, push him into retirement. That ever-present fear of being replaced. Obsolete.

Jason suddenly asked, “How’d you like to kill Nightwing?”

Lou perked up at the offer, his sour mood replaced by excitement. It hurt to smile but he did it anyway. “What do you want me to do?” He asked as if it even mattered, he was in no matter what.

His boss grinned and set a large metal suitcase on the bed, he revealed the contents like he was on the home shopping channel. ”I present to you; the next generation of the Electrocutioner. Redesigned this baby myself from the ground up.” It was a set of wicked-looking gauntlets and accompanying backpack. There was a major contact point on each knuckle that glinted silver, but the entire forearm could be electrified for defensive fighting. 

The backpack housed the power supply and allowed him to ramp it up to ridiculous. The cables feeding the gauntlets were heavily reinforced and armored that even bolt cutters wouldn’t pierce the first layer. No batarang was going to cut these lines.  _ This was absolutely vicious.  _

“There are multiple power settings; all the way from  _ joybuzzer  _ up to  _ fry that fucker like bacon. _ Use it right, and you can take out power to a city block.” Jason gave a brief overview of the controls and the new gear fit perfectly. “I figured for your outstanding service you deserve either this or a purple heart, figured you’d like this better.”

“Yes,  _ yes I do."  _ The gloves slipped on like it was fate as blue light crackled and danced around his knuckles. “Thank you. I will personally gift-wrap that bastard’s corpse for you.” Suddenly all those dressed-up dorks and their weird gizmos made sense. No, it wasn’t practical in the slightest but  _ goddamn _ this was going to be  _ fun. _

He tossed him the spare set of clothes that was packed underneath, an orange jumpsuit was ill-fitting for a soldier of his rank. “I’m counting on it. Now let’s get you out of here, unless you actually like prison food.”

The Lady of Liberty Hospital was already under reconstruction after the recent attack, with an entire wing being abandoned for now. Bruce Wayne had made a massive donation in honor of his dear friend, not realizing he was funding his murder. 

No one bothered to take a second look at the trucks in the parking lot, or what  _ exactly  _ the construction workers have been doing over these past few months. They were content to put all their trust in their new security ran by a man with a scar across his mouth and a tight buzz cut. 

Hush liked the idea of building a throne over the ashes of his former life and had offered to take a look at Lou’s mouth, but the soldier refused to have the man’s knives anywhere near him. Especially after he spent all day playing ‘jigsaw’ in the morgue. A crackle of lightning said what his mouth could not. 

Hush went back to his usual state, preoccupied with sorting body parts across a dozen coolers. It was such a hassle to find the right shape of an ear or the right shade of skin for what he needed. Red Hood assured him that he didn't need to be  _ exact _ , but he was an artist crafting a careful replica. Not a butcher grinding hamburger. 

Every so often someone would barge in and bother him about dates or timetables, but it would be so much faster if they let him  _ hunt.  _ Instead he had to make do from the dregs they gave him. Pain medication and antibiotics went missing whenever the surgeon was involved, but Lou wouldn’t complain if he stayed doped up.

Jason was distant, distracted as he kept checking his phone in the faint chance that he missed it buzzing in the two minutes since he checked it last. Lou didn’t need to be Edward Nygma to guess that his head was still trapped inside a maze, frantically chasing after a certain teen. An energy drink kept his headache away, but the Chateau needed its commander.

Jason wanted to text him. Anything to say that he was still alive and that he couldn’t stop thinking about him, but his brain went blank the moment he tried to type. There was something going on with Tim that he didn’t want to talk about, and he could sense the boy was putting on a brave face. Whatever he was going through had to be pretty damn ugly. 

Scarecrow was rarely seen outside of his lab and he's been working tirelessly with the engineering team and to make sure the next phase was absolutely perfect. This plan was just as much his baby as it was Jason’s and he caught Dr. Crane in the breakroom, piling fresh fruit and waffles onto a paper plate. The Chateau being hidden in plain sight allowed them to enjoy the venue's perks, of course a hospital that catered to Gotham’s privileged would have chefs on standby. 

The reedy creature in front of him looked nothing like the carefully-crafted horror show of his public persona. Not many would spare a second glance to a nerd in a second-hand sweater and jack-o-lantern socks. The mask was set aside and at the moment he was simply Dr. Jonathan Crane _ , Master of Pumpkin Spice  _ getting breakfast. 

Jason tapped him on the shoulder. There were times he worried that he was being too damn obvious with the clues here and he wanted his honest opinion. The death of Tommy Elliot, the dummy explosives at the hospital, the sprinkler part, even the video… Everything was underlining the same point in dripping red ink and if they didn’t catch it, they were as blind as a certain flying rodent. “Be honest, was I chewing the scenery back there? Was I too rough with Karlo?” He asked.

Dr. Crane assured him that the performance was fantastic and that he almost believed it himself. Jason grinned proudly, drunk on praise until he remembered that Crane was a man that collected antique scythes and never had less than three rubber spiders on him at any time. He didn’t know a damn thing about subtlety and their ‘silent fourth’ was even worse.

“How’s-?” Jason nodded towards the plate, knowing who it was really for. Dr. Crane gave a quick glance around the room and was content that no one was listening. He didn’t like his ‘green’ being talked about openly. 

“Stable. The treatment you found him is nothing short of a miracle, all the scans show the tumor is in complete remission. Hush says it will be a full recovery.” His words were measured out in pieces as he pretended it was no big deal. Like it hadn’t driven him to the brink of absolute madness and despair. 

Red Hood had discovered a thing so terrible that the doctor would rather slit his wrists than say out loud; Scarecrow had a heart. Edward had found it one day, buried in a pile of straw and kept it ever since. 

Crane was a man that revelled in pain and suffering of all kinds. All of it was fair game for his research but there was one nightmare that made even  _ his  _ blood run cold; Edward Nygma was dying of a brain tumor and there was nothing anyone could do about it. 

All treatments had failed and Scarecrow was running out of people to threaten, to bribe, just as Edward was running out of time. He cashed in every favor, he would spend every ill-gotten penny and mountains more if it would save the one person that ever mattered. His heart was a tiny, rotten thing the size of a walnut that hadn’t beat since the day he was born but losing Edward would destroy him.

He even tracked down his old student, Hush had become a brilliant surgeon since then, and even he was counting down the days. 

There was no fight, there never was. He was too far along before they even found it. This wretched world,  _ this entire rotten species,  _ needed to be punished for allowing this to happen. Gotham would be broken and Batman’s corpse would yield such lovely flowers for Nygma’s grave. That’s when the Red Hood appeared on his doorstep, summoned by his anger and desperation like a demon from the aether.

This stranger wanted in on the plan he used some miraculous medicine to save Edward’s life without a second thought. As if the potion wasn’t the rarest thing on the planet and worth more than entire continents of gold. Crane was no fool, he knew his fondness was a noose wrapped around his neck and he braced himself for a pull that never came. Red Hood didn’t even ask for payment, instead he had a broad smile as he clapped him on the shoulder and said, “It’s okay to enjoy this, God knows you both deserve some good news.” Was this all out of pity? Or perhaps, an act of understanding from one monster to another?

He didn’t know what to do with the revelation that Wolf held the Red Hood’s heart the same way Edward held his. Mr. Hood was certainly a bizarre creature but alas, there was no rest for the wicked and Mr. Hood had to leave him. Flitting away with a box of chocolate pastries tucked under his arm. 

Crane remembered he was supposed to ask him something in regards to Edward and Oracle’s database. The psychiatrist assumed it was fine. If it was important, he would have remembered.

‘Guests’ were kept on a lower floor and Jason hadn’t gotten a chance to speak with Barbara since her capture. More than half of their prepwork for this was so they could stop  _ her.  _ Months of ‘round the clock surveillance, implanting tiny fragments of code over a long period of time to carefully infect the system. Keep it slow, keep it small, because one tiny slip will ruin everything.

A part of her was annoyed that Bruce rarely sent her to places this nice. Excluding the forced shutdown of her system and being attacked by the ninja death-squad, these people were oddly polite. This place was practically a luxury hotel. Meals were catered in, the sheets were pressed, and there were sky-blue pillows for that ‘little pop of color’ that was so trendy these days. Sadly, the pillows and sheets were the closest thing she had to weapons at the moment. 

There was a knock at the door before it opened enough for a brightly-colored box to fit through. A male voice said “I have donuts as a peace offering. I just want to talk, please don’t hit me in the face.”

Barbara promised and still threw a remote at him the moment he stepped into the room. The hunk of plastic bounced off his helmet. He crouched down so they were at eye level and she could see her reflection in red fiberglass. He said, “What’s the world coming to if you can’t even trust the good guys?”

She frowned. This was the first time meeting the drug lord himself and he doesn’t even have the decency to wear a hood. Barbara commented on that and he rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah and you’re not really a hostage, so what’s your point?” He took off the helmet and her defiance turned to shock. She knew him. There was no way this was real, but in a world filled with superheroes and magic, was anything truly impossible? 

Jason ran a hand through his hair and avoided her eyes, holding back the urge for a cigarette. Even back then, nicotine was one of the few things that got him through the day. “I was gonna do this big speech about how we should join forces and ‘rule the galaxy’ together, but I didn’t want to seem like I was patronizing you.” 

“I’m trying to prove a point to Bruce in the only way he can understand; with a puzzle and a bunch of costumed dorks. This whole ‘catch and release’ plan isn’t working and all does is get people hurt. The moment this is over, you’re free to go.” He gestured to the room, “In the meantime, we want you to be as comfortable as possible. If you need anything; books, movies, fresh towels, all you have to do is ask.”

He stepped back and she grabbed his hand before he could walk away again. “What happened to you, Jason?  _ Why are you doing this?”  _ She pleaded and that small touch held him tighter than iron. There was a powerful need to confess everything, to drop down to his knees and beg for her forgiveness for everything he was going to do. He needed someone,  _ anyone,  _ that could make sense of the throbbing pain in his head. But that door slammed shut years ago. 

Jason didn’t have a choice, he wasn’t sure he ever did. 

He pulled away like the touch burned him and slammed the door shut behind him, walking away more rattled than when he walked in. 

The room went quiet once again her room went quiet. Her work began again. Her imprisonment was a great opportunity to catch up on her shows, if her captors hadn’t made two fatal mistakes. The sharpened edge of a toothbrush pulled back the face of her TV’s cable box to reveal her adjustments. They didn’t trust her with DVDs, those could be turned into a crude knife or batarang so her entertainment came on-demand. She was connected to the internet.

The second mistake were the large windows that gave her a great view of her city. The glass was reinforced and they were at least ten stories up, but it didn’t take long to figure out where she was. All of the tools she needed were in front of her, she just needed a way to get the message out. 

There was someone in the machine, rewriting the code to speak to her. Someone that had the information she needed and could never resist a good mystery. “Hello Miss Gordon, lovely day isn’t it?” Edward Nygma would say that his only crime was being bored and he was going to have a  _ lot _ of fun.

Jason needed something to keep the police off their back, he didn’t plan on bringing him in so soon, but Nightwing in Gotham tipped his hand. He swiped his keycard and took the elevator all the way down to the garage. Who do you call when you need a nice little  _ rogue element  _ to spice things up? A big name known for lots of flashy destruction and looked great on news footage, but was still absolutely expendable? You call Garfield Lynns, the arsonist more famously known as Firefly.

A sack of money and a fresh set of gear was all it took to get him on board. Lynns didn’t give a damn who they were and didn’t ask any questions, which was perfectly fine with them. A few techs were giving him the final fittings of his flight suit and one suggested a quick test drive. 

Lynns started up his signature  _ Nyeh-eh-eh  _ cackle and declared, “Yes! And I shall test it out- _ on you! _ ” Both nozzles were pointed at the engineer and he pulled the trigger. Jason pushed a button and remotely turned off his flamethrowers, leaving Firefly annoyed with the lack of flames shooting from his wrists. 

The former Robin shook his head, there was a special kind of stupid that bites the hand that feeds them. “I’m not surprised, I’m just disappointed.” He said as Lynns kept pressing the button. His thick skull refused to register why it wasn’t working. 

One hit of the ignition on his jetpack and he flew out of the garage like a bat out of hell. He preferred a live demonstration anyway. Car alarms were already wailing in the distance as the soundtrack to his parade of mayhem. The tech asked, “Can we trust him sir?” afraid of what they had just unleashed upon the city.

Jason threw his head back and laughed. “Lynns’  _ insane. _ I wouldn’t trust him to go down to the corner store and get a stick of butter. All you can do is point him in the direction of what you want destroyed and give him a good slap on the ass.” He gave them a duplicate off-switch in case he did anything too bonkers. 

***

Meanwhile, Bruce didn’t like the fact that his best lead right now was his youngest son. He had tried to corroborate Tim’s story after his disappearance but the amount of dirt and sweat from digging up the grave destroyed any evidence on his clothes, and even the security footage at the theater was conveniently wiped. 

The Red Hood was irritatingly thorough and if he had been Robin, it would explain how he was able to stay in their blindspots. He knew exactly what they would look for. “When you went missing there were two blocks of time we couldn’t track you; after you left Ma Gunn’s and after the car crash. Something was blocking your cell phone GPS and your subdermal tracer.”

“You have me  _ chipped? _ ” Tim started, but the anger dissolved before it even began. Of course he would have his loved ones tagged after Jason’s death, but he still should have been a part of that conversation. The gaps in the signal perfectly matched with when he went to Jason’s apartment and the Blue Butterfly. “I assume Barbara’s implant is being blocked right now?” He asked and Bruce nodded.

Tim thought about it for a moment, putting the clues together. “His apartment may have been lead-lined but there’s no way the Butterfly was. They have to be using some type of jammer that allows authorized frequencies to still be used.” He would need to test it, but theoretically his new phone should have the passcode. 

Bruce did _ not _ think that plan was perfect. “Back up, you went to his  _ apartment?  _ You know where he  _ lives _ ?” He asked. 

_ Oh no.  _ Tim started rambling, trying to block out the way his mentor was gawking at him. All those years of trust and hard work were being shattered in minutes. His life threatened to fall apart like a house of cards. “He doesn’t live there anymore, it was compromised. They abandoned that place and the Butterfly after we were attacked-” Unconsciously, he rubbed the injection site on his neck.

It didn’t hurt like it used to, but he could still remember how Jason held him tight as the drug kicked in. Promising everything would be okay while this was killing him. The man would rather push him away than see him hurt.

“Tim, what did he do to you?” Bruce’s tone changed as if he remembered that a heart was more than a machine that pumps blood. 

“In that video with Barbara, that’s not-I’ve never seen him act like that before. He’s...” His Jason was sweet and _ tragic  _ but when he put on that helmet, it was like he became a different person. ”He’s protective of me, he trusts me.”

Bruce knew exactly what he was trying to confess. “Is it mutual?” He asked, not sure how to respond to something like that. 

“Very.” He replied, wanting to get out of here but there weren’t too many places to sulk in a jet.

They went quiet for a while, listening to the dull roar of the engine and the chatter of air traffic controllers in a dozen different languages. The jet followed a path between mountains flanked by unforgiving deserts. If you knew exactly where to look and you weren’t shot down by surface-to-air missiles, you could find the paradise of the Demon’s Head. 

Dull earthy colors suddenly gave way to an oasis teeming with life. An assassin’s headquarters blended into the rock and his elite guard were already waiting to meet them when the wheels touched the ground. The force of the engine kicked up dirt across the tarmac. 

The pair were led to an opulent meeting hall where Ra’s Al Ghul was pouring three glasses of a wine that was older than Robin. Bruce took one and stopped him before he could hand Tim a glass. The old man was amused by his American sense of morality. “If he’s old enough to be your soldier, he’s old enough to know good wine. Now-” 

Ra’s sat down in a plush chair and made himself comfortable. “I am well aware that you are not here for mere pleasantries; the news regarding Mz. Gordon’s capture is quite the predicament. She was an excellent woman and will be missed greatly.”   
  
Bruce’s hand tightened at his side as he snapped, “Don’t talk about her like she’s already dead, not while I’m alive.”

Ra’s was unbothered, if anything he regarded the detective with pity. He had held a secret for too long and it could no longer be held in the dark. “I know the monster that hunts you, I assure you that he will not allow a threat of her caliber to survive even in captivity. She  _ is _ already dead, detective.” 

“This new Red Hood,  _ what _ is he?” Bruce wanted everything he knew. Even now he was still fighting the nagging feeling in his gut. He wanted anything to prove that this monster,  _ this murderer,  _ was not the boy he once knew. But Ra’s only confirmed his fears.

He revealed that all those years ago, Ra’s has been the one that set the Joker loose across Quarac in what was intended to be a wild goose chase. A mad clown took center-stage while the League of Assassins finished their task in peace, but Jason’s death was a horror they had not anticipated. He knew that even at his lowest point, Bruce did not have the heart to bring his son back. Ra’s did not share that hesitation.

He did not know if it was due to the extent of his wounds, the trauma surrounding his death, or even preexisting mental flaws but “-what came out of those waters was not your son. We had confined him for a time, hoping his condition would improve but he escaped, crazed and gibbering mad into the desert. Months I had believed the sands corrected by mistake, but like a familiar nightmare… He would always return.” Ra’s turned to the massive balcony window, forlornly watching the moonlight glint off the sands but Bruce would not let that stand.

Seething with anger as he shouted, gesturing out the window to one of the harshest deserts on the planet. “You hoped a traumatized boy would die of exposure, rather than tell me my son was alive?! You  _ knew,  _ you knew for  _ years  _ and you hid it from me?!” He screamed and his hands found the man’s silk collar, the guards drew their blades to protect their master.

“Yes.” Ra’s admitted, not proud of what he had done. “You would have been proud of him. Even my finest assassins could not hold his trail for more than twenty-four hours. And the few that could never returned to me.” Bruce set him down and the old man smoothed the wrinkles in his shirt. “He has honed his skills to a fine blade but his mind is shattered beyond repair. All he knows,  _ all he cares to know,  _ is the hunt and he has chosen you as his target.” 

_ You imprisoned him, sent assassins after him, of course he would defend himself! _ Tim couldn’t bite his tongue any longer and spoke up, “You’re wrong, I’ve spoken to him. He’s not some shambling  _ beast  _ looking for a victim.” Batman warned him to be quiet, but he didn’t listen and was standing toe-to-toe with the Demon’s head. “Monsters don’t bleed to protect a stranger on the street, he is capable of compassion.”

“And you think he showed it to  _ you?  _ The replacement that stole his life?” 

Tim’s heart sank into his stomach at the realization.  _ It’s true, isn’t it?  _ He thought, looking down at the costume. He wasn’t really Robin after all, just a kid that pushed his way into an empty slot. 

Batman had what he came for, he didn’t need to listen to anymore of the man’s ramblings. Barbara was in danger and each second they wasted, the harder it would be to find her. Ra’s called out that Jason was seeking an end to his torment, either through his father’s blood or a warrior’s death. 

Back in the dull roar of the cockpit, Bruce said, “You are not a replacement for anything, you earned that suit and made it your own. Just like Jason did when he joined.”

In the city, Dick was waiting for them the moment the plane landed, anxious to know if it was true. A nod told him all he needed to know. 

“So what now?” He asked. 

“We will find Barbara. Ra’s called Jason a monster, Gantt saw a saint, and I’ve found that the truth is usually somewhere in between.” Bruce answered as he sat down in his chair. In the corner of his eye, he could see a framed photograph of a boy with a crooked smile. He put the frame face-down on the desk. This didn’t change anything but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he would need to bury Jason a second time. With his own hands, if need be.

The batcomputer screen suddenly changed from blue to red, their police scanner was going haywire as alerts were going up everywhere across the city. A reporter gave updates as firefighters struggled to put out a burning building as a winged silhouette hung in the sky.

Nightwing groaned at their rotten luck. “Firefly’s back in town,  _ really?  _ I thought you dealt with him years ago.”

“So did I.”

The arsonist was spotted in the skyline, but there were no major fires reported yet. The GCPD can handle him, the heroes had a family matter to take care of. He holstered his sticks but Bruce stopped him, saying “If he’s not dealt with quickly a lot of innocent people will get hurt.”

Nightwing pulled away in anger, shocked he would even suggest such a thing. “You can’t be serious-She’s my wife!” 

“Which is exactly why you’re going after Firefly, while Tim and I will go over the clues. We’re going to find her, Dick.”

Tim looked between them and frowned. Jason knew exactly what buttons to press to get them to argue. He wanted them at each other’s throats. “I will go after Firefly.” He said, stepping forward to make the choice for them. Garfield Lynns was crazy but he was still the smaller threat here, they needed their heavy hitters going after Jason and Barbara. Instead, Dick took that as one more reason that it should be him.

Nightwing begrudgingly left and Tim looked back at his mentor, gritting his teeth in betrayal. 

Why was it that the only thing they agreed on was that everything was too dangerous for him? Let Jason take him to Chateau, find Barbara, and have a chance to end this peacefully? Too dangerous. Talk to Jason at all? Too dangerous. Go after a third-rate villain? Too dangerous. But splitting up for an obvious divide-and-conquer tactic?  _ Brilliant idea! _ Times like this he wanted to take Bruce’s  _ World’s Greatest Detective  _ mug away until he stopped making bad life choices. 

Tim was sent upstairs to get some rest and Alfred had already called him off of school. They would call him if there was a break in the case, but he didn’t believe them. The curtains were drawn tight and tried to get some sleep. 

He was lying in bed, blankets wrapped tight as he listened to the clock on the wall and with each tick sleep was moving further away. Giving up, he pulled Jason’s phone out from its hiding place and found a voicemail waiting for him. It was good to hear his voice again. 

“Hey beautiful, how are you holding up? Just making sure you’re okay after yesterday and that…”  _ You’re still alive? That you’re still talking to me?  _ His voice trailed off, Jason’s anxieties filling in the blanks. “I love you, I miss you, and hope to see you soon.”

Tim buried his face into the pillow and groaned, apologizing in his head to everyone that ever thought he was smart. He texted him back.

T: Sorry it took so long, I found out some bad news. I'm chipped and the person that did it really doesn't like me talking to you. Have to hide this phone, don't want to think about what would happen if they found it.

Jason frowned, that explained why he couldn’t find him. There was a quick flash of guilt when he realized that his neighbors were actually telling the truth and probably didn’t deserve having their teeth ripped out. The feeling didn't last any longer than the ash on his cigarette. 

J: Stepdad?

T: Yeah <_<;;

Tim replied, venting about Bruce before remembering his story about being a runaway. God, that felt forever ago. He made a promise to tell him the truth the next time they were together.

J: You know I’d do anything to help you, right? All you have to do is ask. 

He offered, hoping Tim would give him something he could sink his teeth into. There was something the teen found romantic about Jason rushing in to save him, guns blazing like the fire in his eyes. And then he had an idea. He could get Jason to take him to the Chateau. Get in, rescue Barbara, hopefully talk Jason off the roof, and they can go to the movies again. Perfect.

There actually was a way they could see each other and they started hatching a plan. 

Convincing Alfred to let him out of the house was much easier than he thought, and he didn’t have to lie either. Tim  _ did  _ have a test coming up and he already missed too many classes. He was only asking for a few hours at the library. The old man was concerned about the lack of sleep, but he couldn’t deny a student’s education and Tim had made do on a lot less. 

He was ready to go and out the door in record time, applying his eyeliner in the rearview mirror when he arrived. He was wearing less of a disguise each time he went out, but that swipe of black made him 'feel more like himself’ somehow. Like Tim Drake was becoming the mask.

He was no stranger to this coffee shop and they had his order ready the moment he walked in. Taking a sip of the hot drink, he kept a dark blue backpack close to his side. Normally it was stuffed with textbooks, notebooks, and pens in eight different colors. Today it kept Robin uniform within reach and somehow school supplies seemed heavier. 

Jason was already there, waiting for him in a black leather jacket with spikes across the shoulders. A newspaper was open in front of him as he pretended to read. Dark aviator sunglasses did little to hide the restrained heat of the gaze that followed Tim across the room. Tim invited him to follow with a tilt of his head.

The moment they were outside and away from prying eyes, Jason pulled him into his arms and kissed him like they hadn’t touched in  _ years _ . Tim melted into his touch and for a few moments there were no cases, no police sirens screaming in the distance, and no masks to keep them apart. He didn’t realize how much it hurt to be apart until now. Jason gave pink lips another nip before pulling back, saying “Thank you, I was afraid you wouldn’t come back after finding out about  _ me. _ ” Green eyes drifted down to Tim’s body, relieved that there were no new injuries. He would never forgive himself if something happened to him.

“I wouldn’t do that to you.” He replied, searching for any hint that Jason knew who he really was. It didn’t seem like he did, but it was hard to tell what the man was thinking sometimes. They stayed like that for a while. 

They held hands as he was led to a van painted up like a construction company. Jason opened up the back and revealed the inside was decked out like an ambulance. There was a gurney, medical equipment, and a tiny cooler filled with soda and blood bags. The van’s rear windows were blacked out for privacy. Jason grinned at the impressed look on his face, teasing “What? Did you think I was going to use a box cutter and a bottle of vodka like in the movies?” 

Tim sheepishly climbed onto a gurney and smoothed out the cushion. “Kinda.” He admitted, pulling off his sweatshirt and held it in his lap. He seemed smaller now, sitting there with his pale skin dotted with old scars. There was a nervous tension to his shoulders, but it wasn’t from the scalpels sitting within arm’s reach.Jason’s sleeves were rolled up as he washed his hands, his gloves were blue nitrile in case of a latex allergy.

Wound up and desperate to hold onto this feeling of peace, but that tracer was a ticking time-bomb. Tim didn’t know how long he could stay here before Nightwing-or worse,  _ Batman- _ found them. “Jay… Be honest, how much do you know about me?” He asked, afraid of what the answer might be. 

“I know what I need to.” He replied with a shrug, opening the same suture kit from the apartment. He knew Tim was compassionate, brave, and could always make him smile. They cared about each other and that’s all that really mattered.

“That’s not really an answer...” Tim huffed, almost pouting. 

“I know you’re from Bludhaven, you used to be in a photography club in school and your grades were a hell of a lot better than mine.” He admitted that he tried to look into his records but didn’t get very far, he didn’t try again after that. At the end of the day, it wasn’t his business and no matter how bad it was, Jason’s was a million times worse. 

He didn’t know anything about his stepdad or what he did to him, but seeing the way the teen jumped at shadows was enough to want a bullet in his brain. And who the hell chips a kid like a dog? 

Tim didn’t get angry like he did, screaming hate at the world that took every opportunity to shove him back into the dirt. The teen was softer, kinder, and somehow _colder_ as if agreeing to being cut open in the parking lot was completely normal. The teen had monsters in his closet, but the one at his side was the scariest of them all. He gave him another kiss and said “You can share as much or as little from your past as you want, it doesn’t change _us._ ”

Tim felt his heart breaking, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t ruin this. “I don’t understand you at all. You’re wonderful when you’re with me, but I don’t know who you are when you leave. I can’t believe that you’d blow up a hospital, and why are you going after Batman?” He said, exhausted and frustrated as he stood up.

Jason cringed the accusation,  _ really  _ not liking where this conversation was going. “Hey, the hospital wasn’t my idea- I thought I did a great job keeping damage to a minimum.” 

The uncomfortable moment was cut short by his phone going off, it was work. “Someone better be dying.” He huffed and from the sudden change in his expression, someone was. 

Dr. Crane was on the other line, acting as a translator for Lou that was frantically writing technical terms the psychiatrist didn’t understand. Barbara had gotten past their cyber-security much faster than they expected. They needed to be ready for a full assault from Batman, and they needed the Red Hood. “ _ Now?  _ I swear, if you’re fucking with me right now-” Jason voice got louder, livid that they could fail that badly the moment he walked out the door. They  _ knew  _ what this meant to him and-

He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. This wasn’t the person he wanted to be in front of Tim. “ _ Fine.  _ We’re doing it live, but if I find out you tipped her off I’m putting you right back in that cornfield where I found you.” They needed to get Lynns airborne like  _ yesterday,  _ at least that would buy them time to get suited up. 

He hung up, bitter and angry that his time with Tim was cut brutally short but they couldn't risk Batman getting there first. Resisting the urge to fling his phone into the next state, he climbed into the driver's seat. “I’m dropping you off with Lou. Tim, if I don’t come back-”

Tim had made himself a wall between him and the driver’s seat, the feet planted shoulder-width apart like he was bracing for a fight. “Don’t you dare talk like that!”

“It’s not like I  _ want _ to leave...”

“Then don’t. Stay with me,  _ please.” _ This was his only chance to fix this and it was slipping away. Would he be willing to fight him if it came to that, or would Jason make that choice for him?

Jason sighed, _don’t do this to me baby._ He stepped forward until the toes of their shoes touched. “I need you to get out of my way, Tim.” He said when he refused to budge, tempted to pick him up and move him out of the way.

“ _ Please- _ ” Tim pleaded, his heart breaking. "At least tell me why you're doing this." He flinched when he felt hands on him, but instead of pain he was pulled into a hug. Jason rested his head on the teen’s shoulder and promised, "I swear it’s not as bad as it looks, but I promise they  _ will  _ get better. I just need you to trust me a little bit longer, can you do that for me?" A kiss on the forehead was an apology. 

“And Crane’s not a bad guy-” He started, trying to find the words that would make this okay as his brain reminded him that there were  _ literal bodies in his basement.  _ Tim stared at him with one eyebrow raised like he was crazy. “Okay, he’s got _ issues _ but he’s actually pretty cool when you get to know him.”

“This is it, isn’t it? The big fight against Batman?”

“Hopefully. If I’m lucky, it’ll all be wrapped up by tonight.” He said as he started the engine. Revenge would always come first until Bruce was dead at his feet. 

The van pulled into a parking garage where a group of plainclothes militia were waiting for them. Multiple floors had been cordoned off for their exclusive use. His motorcycle was fuelled up and ready to go. Jason shed his jacket the moment he stepped out of the car, two soldiers assisted with his chestplate the moment he lifted his arms. Straps were tightened as internal circuitry was brought online. The Jason he knew was sealed away, locked behind a glossy red helmet and it would be a long time until he saw him again. 

The sight reminded Tim of servants dressing a knight before a battle. He was their vanguard leading them into glorious battle. Batman was the dragon terrorizing the countryside and they would go to the ends of the earth to see it slain. They cheered him on every step of the way. Why wouldn’t anyone stop him? Couldn’t they see what was happening?

Lou had a copy of _American Sign Language for Dummies_ rolled up and sticking out of his back pocket. He was speaking to Jason with his hands and they didn’t know Tim could follow along. Everything was in position and Scarecrow was waiting for the big curtain call. “Do you think Batman will play ball?”

“Never. He would rather watch them get gutted alive than admit he was wrong.”

Lou mouthed the words, ‘Fucking hell’

A soldier with a kind smile offered Tim a front row seat to the show. 

Everyone’s attention was focused on the battle, so no one noticed the teen walking away. He couldn’t watch anymore of this and realized he was only a stone’s throw away from the Liberty hospital.  _ “Why are they here?”  _ The phone had been set to silent and a set of coordinates flashed on the screen.

Barbara had been found.


	8. Chapter 8

Barbara’s message went through but she didn’t get the opportunity to enjoy her victory. 

The voice in her television adored board games and eagerly challenged her to play. She was happy to indulge it, using the opportunity to hijack the connection and send her coordinates to the family. As much as she would’ve loved to sit back and wait for her inevitable rescue, something had gone wrong.

Like the flip of a switch, all of the room’s windows suddenly turned black and even the usual noise that filtered in from the street was missing. She realized in shock that her room didn’t have a single window, these were actually large television screens embedded in the wall to look as such. She had led her family exactly where Jason wanted her to.

***

Tim was Robin again. Secure and comfortable in his old familiar mask, flying above the rooftops with his mentor at his side. Bruce said little, completely focused on the battle to come. 

Barbara’s signal led them to a half-built office building on the other side of town, it was an old Lexcorp project that got abandoned. The message even marked the exact window to look for. Batman dove into it with both feet together, entering the room in a spray of broken glass. Robin had taken an alternate route and snuck in from a fire escape on the floor above. 

The Red Hood watched the security footage as Bruce was greeted with the fire of a dozen turrets. The old man nimbly dodging to avoid being cut to ribbons, but his cape wasn’t as successful. Good to know he hadn’t lost his touch in all those years. “Time to lock and load, we’ve only got one shot at this.” Jason said to his earpiece, snapping a fresh magazine into a machine gun. 

He ran off to follow him but was stopped by a metal staff pressing against his chest. Of course, Jason would have to meet the brat eventually. 

The teen was blocking his path, waiting for him with a mix of determination and regret. “I don’t want to fight you." He said and Jason tried not to laugh. The kid thought he actually had a chance against him.

Bruce and Dick treated the new Robin like a little puppy, and it only took one glance to figure out  _ why.  _ Child savant. Rich parents. Orphan. Nose as clean as a whistle and it got him everything he wanted. They coddled him, they adored their precious little  _ angel  _ that was everything Jason wasn’t. Drake was the kid Bruce and Dick never had, and the second Robin was tossed into the trash like a failed experiment. His body wasn’t even cold before they gave the suit away. 

Jason shoved him to the side without a second glance, saying “Then get out of my face or get wrecked, the adults are busy.” He took two steps forward but the kid refused to be ignored. With practiced grace, he hooked the staff on one of his shoulder straps, pulling him back before slamming it into the back of his knee. Jason lost his balance and hit the floor with an unceremonious ‘thud’. Now he was annoyed. 

So he was going to take a little detour before punching Bruce in the face. He got up and sprayed the floor with bullets, forcing the kid to get back or lose his legs. It was time the kid was taught not to pick fights.

The building’s hallways were narrow, maze-like with nothing to hide behind. A less than ideal battleground for an acrobat trying to avoid a belly full of lead. Instead of finding the space restrictive, Tim found a way to use it to his advantage. Jumping from the wall and carrying that momentum into each strike, hitting his joints and sides where the armor was thin. There was no point in being delicate, Jason’s gear could take the punishment.

Close range combat kept him from using explosives and forced him to swap his guns for a knife. Black bracers kept him from slashing open his vitals, reminding him that Bruce taught them how to subdue their opponents, but Jason learned how to _ break them _ .

“Why won’t you stay down?!” He yelled in frustration as Robin wiped his split lip with the back of his hand. Tim found it hard to separate the enemy in front of him from the lover he knew. Those strong arms that picked him up like a toy now knocked him to the ground, hitting him harder each time he got up. Jason hated him, no, he hated _ Robin.  _ He wanted to break that damned staff over his head.

"I told you I wouldn't let you hurt anyone, Jay." The soft tone of his voice made him pause, it was too familiar. But before Jason could respond, Tim opened the first three snaps of his uniform. Red and gold fabric opening just enough to reveal a throat marred by Jason's mouth. 

He couldn't see the face behind the helmet, but the sliver of eyes that he could see were blown wide in shock. Jason gingerly touched his neck, a thumb ghosting over one of the hickeys to make sure it was real. His hand lingering against his warm skin and Tim put a hand over his. The teen couldn’t hold back a smile. 

Everything was going to be okay. They could end this,  _ together _ , and the lost Robin would finally come home. Drunk on love and blind optimism, Tim had made a _ terrible _ mistake.

Jason’s hand snapped up to clamp around the teen’s throat, slamming his back against hard drywall.  _ "You were a plant?!"  _ He seethed as the grip tightened enough to bruise, appalled and disgusted by what had happened. Every kiss, every touch was nothing more than a lie, like his entire life was someone else’s sick joke. "Oh my God, did Bruce order you to sleep with me? Or was that just for  _ kicks _ ?" 

Tim clawed at the hand on his throat. Horrified at the accusation he pleaded, "It's not like that at all, I never lied about how I felt about you." He didn’t believe a word of it, how could he? Jason’s head dropped to a condescending tilt as he ground the muzzle of a gun into the teen’s chest.  _ "Of course you didn't, sweetheart. _ " He said, his voice dripping with malice as he pulled the trigger. 

There was a deafening  _ bang  _ and a terrible stab of pain. Tim fell to the ground the moment Jason let go, crumpling like a broken doll.

Thank God and Lucius Fox that was where his armor was the thickest. He wouldn't have a bullet in his chest, but breathing was sheer agony with each breath sucked in as a pained gasp. The sheer force of the gun broke his sternum and ruptured the surrounding muscles. Internal bleeding was guaranteed.

Tim tried to focus through the pain when every instinct told him to curl up in a ball and sob. _ I can’t let you go,  _ he promised as he grabbed Jason's ankle when he tried to walk away. He felt like he had been punched in the chest by Bane. 

Red Hood looked down at him in disgust and ground the heel of his boot into his palm, making him wince. "This is your one chance to get out of this alive. You can change your name, take a flight, I don't give a  _ damn _ , but if I see your face again I'm putting you in the ground." 

Tim wasn’t sure how long he was left gasping on the floor, drifting in and out of consciousness. He couldn’t stay here but fighting in this state would risk a punctured lung. He heard Bruce’s voice calling out to him. 

There were the sounds of sirens and the air stunk of gasoline.  _ Did we win?  _ He asked no one in particular. 

***

In another part of the building, Bruce had his own battle to deal with.

He had found Barbara in a room walled off with a thick sheet of glass. Her tiny cell consisted of a bed, a nightstand, and a grimy sink she used to stay clean. Still dressed in the same clothes as when she was taken days ago, she looked unspeakably  _ tired. _

There was a smile of relief when she saw her old friend, the expression turning dark as LED screens lit up with Scarecrow's face. Orange gas seeped into the room from the vents. 

“Did you really think it would be that easy?” Scarecrow’s voice came in over the speakers, cold and smooth but Bruce didn’t even register he was there. The only thought on his mind was getting her out of there before it was too late. 

He pounded on the glass as hard as he could but even the full weight of his shoulder barely left a crack. It wouldn't give in time.

She covered her mouth with her shirt as the coughing started, the gas burning like vinegar on her tongue. Then he saw the monster clawing at her cage. "No! Get away from me!" She screamed in horror, her jade eyes blown wide with panic. Heart rate climbing higher by the second. Frantic hands tugged on the wheels of her chair but they refused to move, a heavy chain locked them in place. Then Barbara remembered what was on the nightstand. It was her only way out.

Bruce stepped back and spoke calmly, trying to reach her through the poison in her lungs. “Barbara… Barbara, it's  _ me _ . I’m your friend.” 

He screamed at her not to take the gun, the words falling like primal shrieks to her ears. "I won't let you hurt me again!" With tears in her eyes, she pressed the barrel against her head and pulled the trigger.

There was a flash, a bang, and then  _ silence _ . 

Her body went slack and the gun clattered to the floor. 

Batman was frozen in shock, unable to tear his eyes away. Head lolled back, her body slumped over the chair and impossibly still. Everything that made her the person he admired was splattered against the wall. He should have been the one to die.

And then there was noise again.

Scarecrow shook his head and there was disappointment staining his voice. "Such a shame, really. Ms. Gordon was such a lovely woman and with so much potential too. Batman, this chronic lateness of yours is starting to become an issue.” The microphone picked up the pencil’s scratching as he scribbled some test results into a notebook. He mused aloud,  _ “ _ What do you suppose she saw in that last _ horrid _ moment of despair? A bat _? _ Or perhaps a  _ clown?" _

Bruce felt sick to his stomach and wanted to scream. 

Scarecrow’s attention was suddenly drawn to something off-screen and the picture changed to show a dimly lit hallway. The Red Hood had a smoking gun and Robin was writhing on the floor in agony. He sounded surprised. "It appears my companion has arranged a double feature. If you hurry, you may still have time to save the boy."

Batman took off in a full sprint. 

Red Hood was already on the roof, taking a few drags of a cigarette while he waited. Robin was tossed over by the air conditioner and forgotten about. “Don’t worry, the brat’s still breathing.  _ Barely. _ ” He said as Bruce rushed to the boy’s side. Tim’s sternum was shattered and multiple ribs were fractured, but he would survive this. 

Even standing there wide open for an attack, Jason was still 3rd priority at best. _Figures._ Jason flicked the cigarette off the railing before putting his helmet back on, the locks clamping down tight. “So how’s this gonna end, Bats? Are you going to finally bite the bullet and kill me or are we gonna keep playing this game until it’s just _you,_ _me_ , and a pile of corpses?” 

Bruce’s hands tightened in rage at his sides, he didn’t recognize this monster in front of him. The violence, the brutality of it all. How could Jason do this? How could he allow  _ any _ of this to happen? “You’re not my son.”

Jason scoffed as if that was supposed to be news, “I never was.”

Tim managed to get his arms underneath him and was able to sit up. Bruce told him not to move, but he didn’t care. A few coughs and he was able to speak, "You told me-" 

"Peanut gallery;  _ shut the fuck up!"  _ Jason snapped, livid that he dared to speak to him after what he did. 

The teen brushed off the verbal abuse as if it wasn’t salt in the wound. "You told me once that you've never hurt anyone that didn't deserve it. Why did you go after Dr. Elliott and Barbara?"

Jason went quiet for a moment and made a frustrated groan. Of course that would come back to bite him in the ass. _Give away the plot twist to the cutie-pie, that’ll never go wrong._ He thought sarcastically. "They both saved Batman's life more than once, that's worth a death sentence by itself and Tommy's a whiny _prick_. Besides, you'd know a thing or two about _lying_ , don't you?" 

Tim had seen him angry a dozen times but that came in at a generous  _ 2  _ on the Jason Todd rage-gauge. but before he could press on that Firefly decided to join the party. 

The arsonist came at them like a bat of hell, pursued by Nightwing and what felt like every cop in the city. The sirens and lights going full blast. He clipped their building, spraying a line of flames across the roof. Bruce grabbed Tim and got the hell out of here. 

The teen beat on his shoulders, demanding to be let go and go after them but Bruce refused. He couldn’t handle any more death today, and Tim needed medical attention. 

“He called him  _ Tommy... _ ” Tim said, watching the building go up in flames like so much tinder but Bruce wasn’t listening.

Babara’s body was lost to the blaze. 

***

Back at the cave, Tim was propped up on the gurney and forced down a mouthful of pain pills with a glass of tepid water. His chest was a mass of bruises, taped up as best they could. Everything was a haze and he had lost consciousness at some point.

Dick cracked open his second energy drink in a half-hour but left his meal untouched. He drew a few lines on Tim’s x-ray with a red marker, “Your ribs are fractured… here, here, and  _ here.  _ Congratulations, your sternum is now fine enough to snort.” He tried to be funny, but the tone was harsher than intended. 

The only question Tim cared about was; “How long?”

He thought about it for a moment, running the numbers in his head. “I’d say four, maybe five months until you’re back in the field.”

Tim tried to get up, “Not going to happen, I’ll make a brace or-” Dick stopped him with a hand on his knee. 

“If just one of those shards cuts your heart or lungs, you’ll bleed out in minutes and there’s no amount of Wayne super-tech that could save you.” His expression changed with the subject, moving onto something lighter. A sympathetic smile graced his lips but it didn’t go up to his eyes. “Since it’ll take time for the bones to knit, what do you think about staying with me in Bludhaven for a while? It’ll be a great brotherly-bonding moment and hopefully take your mind off it while it heals.” 

It was the same type of offer Jason tried to give him, but he didn’t think Dick would take ‘no’ for an answer. Something didn’t feel right. 

Tim glanced around the cave, the batcomputer was still dark and everything was too quiet. The usual hum from the spectrographs or analyzers was absent. He expected Bruce and Barbara to be talking a mile a minute, going over all the details with a fine comb. He wanted to hear everything about what happened during her capture. The plate of food next to Dick was a thrown-together cheese sandwich and some carrots. Alfred didn’t make that.

“Where’s Bruce?” He asked.

Dick’s mouth became a thin line, the teen’s intuition was spot-on. At times like this, he wishes that he was a better liar. “The usual. Anyway! I’ve already called you off work for a while, we made a fake cast and sling will help keep you from moving your chest too much. We’ll say your arm got broken in a snowboarding accident in the alps or something. I can call your school-” 

With the push of a button, Tim switched on the computer. In a flash each screen was suddenly lit up with a different piece of news footage. Firefighters shielding their faces to avoid backdraft while others sprayed jets of water on the blaze. A policewoman being interviewed as their system was being flooded with false sightings of the villains, keeping them from getting an accurate view of the damage. A pundit blamed everything on Batman and the 'rise of these masked freaks'. Still images were taken from the ransom footage sent to the police and overlaid with bright red banners reading ‘The Grisly Death of Barbara Gordon’ or ‘Who is the Red Hood?’

He watched in stunned silence before he could choke out the words, "Barbara's dead… Overdose of fear gas, she committed suicide?" He said in disbelief. 

The teen let himself be pulled into a hug, the voice at his shoulder said “I didn’t want you to find out this way.”

There had been an  _ argument  _ when they returned to the manor. In short, Dick was distraught and said some terrible things to Bruce that were completely true and ended up violently throwing him out of his own cave. The man was likely cowering behind Alfred to avoid another helping of Nightwing’s wrath.

“No… Jason wouldn’t do this, that’s not-” Tim’s head fell into his hands, this didn’t make any sense. 

Dick held him a little tighter, saying “...Maybe you didn’t know him as well as you thought you did. I don't think any of us did.”

_ He knew. _

Tim’s shirt was gone and his ‘love bites’ were on full display. Bruce told him, but  _ he  _ wasn't the one standing here. Dealing with the questions, the assumptions made with the way Dick's eyes followed the marks.

The teen shoved him off and put on a sweatshirt he kept in the cave, he didn’t want to have that argument right now. "Don't. I don't want to talk about it."

“It's not healthy to bottle it up.”

“And what about  _ you?” _ He asked, anger starting to seep into his voice. 

Dick merely shrugged, replying “What  _ about _ me?” 

It didn’t matter how he was favoring one side, his right shoulder covered in grafts after the skin was burned off. The fact that he barely slept since Barbara was taken, telling himself that he didn't need to worry. She could do anything and Batman was on the case. How he kept going back to that video where Jason said the only way to stop him would be to kill him. Cross that line.

Looking back at the fight at the opera and saying;  _ I can do that. _

The only thing that mattered was keeping his family safe. 

Tim started gathering all the notes on this since the beginning, and got ready for a long night. “I'm going over the evidence again. I had to have missed something.” The file was a lot thinner than it should have been.

“Tim… I can get you some pamphlets on schools but please, think about Bludhaven okay?”

***

The villains returned to the Chateau in a flood of cheers. Soldiers clapped and hollered at their victory, even the Nerds were out of their cage to throw fistfulls of glittering gold confetti. Every news station had shown the death of Ms. Gordon in glorious high-definition. The footage expertly touched-up for maximum effect. 

The entire  _ city _ was witness to their triumph, it was the event of the year. 

Karlo leapt into the festivities, calling for an Oscar and alcohol by the case. Crane was tossing threats up to Nygma from the bottom of a starwell. The redhead paid no mind and dumped an entire box of the metallic shreds onto his head. The militia wanted to congratulate their boss but they sensed something was wrong. 

Jason went straight back to his room and locked the door. 

He needed to be alone for a while and anyone that disturbed him would be eating his boot. In the quiet stillness of his room there was nowhere to hide from what happened. He wanted to feel clean again.

The shower was turned up as hot as he could stand it and scrubbed at his skin until it hurt to touch. Anything to wash away the feeling of being  _ used. _

There was a sick voice in his head; shrieking and laughing like this was all a goddamn  _ riot.  _ How hilarious he must have looked, the tough-as-nails Red Hood turned googly-eyed and ripping his heart out to the first person to show him a shred of affection. How  _ close  _ he came to throwing it all away… his empire burned to the ground if it meant they could run away together.

The worst part was that it was all so damn  _ obvious. _

Of course no one would ever want to date him. Who on Earth could even  _ stomach _ being near him if they didn’t have an ulterior motive? That should have been the biggest clue that it was all a lie. Bruce, Dick, and Drake were probably laughing their asses off the moment he looked away. He could see them standing there with that same white face and painted grins.

How could he think for a moment that there was a way out of this, that someone would ever… 

_ No one cares about you, Jason. Not back then, not now, not ever.  _

_ I thought he did,  _ he tried to explain to the mass of giggling hate that shared his skull. Instead, it brought up scandalous memories of how quickly he fell into bed with the teen and how much he had enjoyed it. He really wasn’t any different from the creep at the club, was he? A  _ good _ person would have resisted instead of making up some cheap excuse. 

Jason pressed his forehead against the shower glass, trying to focus on anything to keep from sinking further. The sound of running water. His skin rubbed raw. Brushing his teeth until the taste of mint made him gag.

A tiny flicker of hope brought him back from the edge. There’s no way that  _ replacement  _ could have been his Tim. Why didn’t he see it sooner? 

The door was thrown open and he scrambled for his gear, taking a small piece of plastic from his pocket with trembling hands. Not caring about the puddles of water he left in his wake. The shower was left running full-blast.

The gas used on Bruce was odorless, colorless, tasteless... there was a chance  _ he _ could have been exposed too. Jason had never been so happy at the possibility of a gas leak. 

The medical device was smaller than a credit card with a cap on one end and a space for colored dots of the other. He cut his finger too deeply and it ran down his wrist. A drop of blood would tell him the truth. 

A green dot meant he was infected by one of Ivy’s poisons, purple for Joker gas, orange for fear toxin. He held the piece of plastic between his hands and for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, he closed his eyes and prayed. If there was a God with even the  _ slightest  _ shred of compassion for him, it would let him have this.  _ Don't take him away from me.  _ He pleaded.

The chemical reaction only took seconds, but it felt like an eternity. One eye peeked open to see a single colored dot.

Blue, no toxins detected. 

Jason slammed it against the ground in rage, shattering it into a dozen pieces. 

A knock at the door stopped him before he could dive back into his pit of self-loathing. He had to put his broken heart on hold for now, the Dead Men needed their commander. Tossing on a pair of sweatpants, he answered the door. 

It was Jonathan, still dressed as Scarecrow with his mask hanging half out of his pocket. It was hardly fair that their leader would miss out on the festivities and a thick slice of chocolate cake made an appropriate peace offering. “May I speak with you?”

Begrudgingly, Jason let him inside and flopped down on the couch. He took a mouthful of buttercream before gesturing at him to continue. If he said a word about how he looked, he’d stab him with the plastic fork.

Crane stepped over the broken electronics, his hands folded politely behind his back. A leftover habit from his teaching days. “The world believes Ms. Gordon and Thomas Elliot are dead. Our informant in the police force assures us the commissioner is practically deranged with grief. Robin is crippled, if not dying of internal bleeding as we speak. All of our work has exceeded our expectations, and yet…” He gestured to his friend. “Here we are, at the cusp of absolute victory and yet something has shaken you.” 

He had moved over to sit in a chair next to Jason's couch. The gesture was calculated to be supportive while not invading the man's personal space. “What did Batman do to you?” He asked calmly, and Jason knew he was doing ‘the psychiatrist thing’. All he was missing was the tiny notepad.

“Fuck off, Jonathan.” He spat, taking another bite.

The older man didn’t even blink at the jab, used to far worse than petty insults. “I was a doctor once and I do occasionally use my abilities to heal. I would like to assist you in any way that I can. If you will allow it, of course.” 

Jason ate his cake in silence but made no move to throw him out, Crane counted that as progress. 

Patience had never been an issue for the doctor and there were still pieces of confetti to pick off his clothes. He would remain as long as he was needed. 

Their methods were different, but underneath they had so much in common. Bitter and angry after being kicked into the dirt so many times that you become homesick for the taste of your own blood. Mr Hood still had hope even after the other had long since given up on humanity. He saw himself as the sole survivor on a planet of the shambling sheep. ‘People’ were strange shrieking animals that got violent the moment he stepped out of line and gawked at him with the same slack-jawed expression. The only difference between the schoolyard bully knocking out your teeth and the person selling newspapers was  _ opportunity.  _ He would not give them that chance.

And then Edward happened. His voice cutting through the noise like an emergency broadcast declaring ‘I can hear you, you are not alone.’

Now he could understand  _ one _ other person existing, but Mr. Hood and the lieutenant made four. There was evidence that some of the Dead Men were also ‘alive’ and then Wolf came with Red’s seal of approval. Crane wiped his glasses and conceded that his world was starting to get crowded. He would need to get more chairs.

Jason leaned back in the chair and said, “Do you remember the boy I brought to the meeting?” The sudden sound was startling.

“The Wolf? Did something happen?” He asked, sitting up straighter at the implication. Not sure how they went from Batman to his companion.

"He picked the wrong side. He was working with the Bat and sold us out. Fuckin’ bullshit.”

"Are you certain?" He asked, this was grave news indeed. 

"Saw it plain as day." Jason continued with how the plan was still on track, ‘this changes nothing’, and other things to quickly brush off his moment of emotional vulnerability. Instead of elaborating on anything, the doctor was shooed out of the room under the guise that he needed rest rather than his own blatant refusal to show weakness.

Crane made a quick scribble about Mr. Hood’s toxic masculinity was likely caused by traumatic events experienced at a young age. That issue would be more complicated to resolve, but he could certainly do something about the wayward Wolf. 

Mr. Hood tore his heart out for the boy but the feelings were clearly not mutual. Then again, what was romance other than chemicals and bonding over similar trauma?

He cornered the lieutenant while he was making his rounds, speaking in hushed tones as he explained that Batman had turned Red’s Wolf against him and that they would have to resolve this dilemma. 

Lou typed out his response with a text-to-speech program and punctuated it with a scowl. "We're not doing anything without Boss’ orders, we have to stick to the plan.”

But he would hardly be the master of fear if he didn't know what buttons to push to get what he wanted. “During your talks, does your master ever mention what he plans to do when this is over?"

Jason talked about the future of the militia, Crane and Edward's plans, and all sorts of other things. But only mentioned himself  _ once. _

Even Lou admitted he had seen the signs. From the way the soldier was being groomed to take command, what the final battle this was building up to, the strange things he's said, and the morbid fascination with explosives. Crane voiced the fear no one dared to say aloud; Jason didn't  _ want  _ to survive this but somehow, the boy gave him  _ hope _ .

"He needs someone waiting for him on the other side. As it stands, Mr. Hood has been deeply wounded, possibly mortally so.” 

Lou didn’t know the kid very well but he didn’t seem like the type to be a stooge for the cops and Jason could be a little...  _ extreme _ . There were a lot of reasons Tim would've talked, and even Lou admits he would rather see Jason arrested than dead. If he could get the two of them to just  _ talk  _ to each other, surely this would turn out to be a big misunderstanding. 

“Okay. I’ll help, but I’m coming with you.” He didn’t trust Scarecrow acting out on his own. The man’s intentions sounded good enough but Dr. Crane was still a nutcase with papers to prove it. He would find a way to crazy this up somehow. “His full name is Timothy Drake-Wayne.”

_ “Really?”  _ Crane asked, his monotone facade breaking for a moment. “How poetic.”

In moments, Lou had a dossier and maps of his frequent hangouts so they could plan their next move. 

Crane made a pleased noise as he scrolled through a virtual tour of the historic Wayne manor. It was a veritable treasure trove of valuables in every shape and size, anything from European sports cars to Ming dynasty pottery. Bruce Wayne's watch collection alone was worth a small country and any of them would fit better on Edward's wrist. "It's perfect. Who is more vulnerable when they believe they are safe in their beds?"

"Absolutely not. Place's built like a fortress and we'd have police up our ass in minutes."

That was true, besides the fact Edward would never forgive him if he robbed the place without him. He had his own grudge against the trust-fund fop. Crane took another look at the file and saw a familiar name. “There, the school.”

“I used to work at that college a lifetime ago and I have attacked the place more than once when the mood strikes. It keeps the old stooges from getting too comfortable.” 

They could gas the place up, Crane chases some teachers around with a scythe while Lou smooths things over with Tim. A mix heavy on the hallucinogen would ruin any witness testimonies and no one would bat an eye at a few students going missing during the chaos.

The old soldier could work with this and they shook on their newly forged alliance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D:


	9. Chapter 9

So here he was, being scolded by his teachers and dodging questions from his friends at school. He’d need to be there for a least a few hours to collect his reading material and quell the rumor that he eloped with his baby-momma. He wore the cast per his family’s pestering and some people wanted to sign it. The hunk of plaster and fabric slowed him down, but at least it made his chest feel a little better.

The math problems on the board were nothing more than arcane scribbles. _“City in flames and I still have homework…”_ Tim groaned, the world needed him anywhere but here. He tried to pay attention, he really did, but he couldn’t just ignore the war inside his head or the fires raging outside. Somehow it was still better than being at home. 

At least here there wasn't a pile of clues glaring at him like he had missed something obvious, or family following him like he’d collapse at any minute. But as the saying goes; _If Muhammad will not go to the mountain..._

The mountain came to him in the sound of a girl’s scream in the hallway. His professor went to investigate and was greeted at the door by Lou spraying him in the face with orange gas. The old man fell to the floor, clawing and thrashing at imaginary snakes but the soldier paid no mind. He stepped over him as the effect spread outward to the rest of the class. 

Tim’s classmates shrieked and cowered from the man in full combat gear but the teen stood his ground. He tossed Tim a rebreather, saying "Come with me." with an electronic voice and he didn’t have much of a choice. 

As they walked down the hallway, Lou assured him his classmates would be fine while trying to shield him from the sight. Screams echoed from the halls and classrooms descended into carnage as people fought to frantically pull on doors marked ‘push’. A girl was sitting on the floor and crying. He asked what was going on. 

“Trying to fix things before they get worse.” Lou replied with his hands before remembering Tim didn’t understand. This wasn’t really the place or the time to type out a long explanation. 

"Did Jason send you?" He asked, afraid to hope but Lou shook his head.

There was an odd look down at the cast, there had been plenty of stories of Batman’s percussive interrogation methods to know where it came from. Awful to think that a ‘hero’ would stoop low enough to snap a teen’s arm just to get him to talk.

The university’s theater was usually reserved for stilted productions of _Hamlet_ , but now it was blissfully empty. They could barely hear the chaos just beyond the walls. Tim guessed he was being led to the backstage exit. It was secluded enough so they wouldn’t get caught leaving together, but it still seemed like a strange place to go. They had to pass a lot of exits and cameras to get here. 

Lou yanked Tim’s rebreather back and climbed onto the stage, gesturing for the teen to follow. _C’mon, just a few more steps forward._ He thought _,_ and the fact that he was still wearing his own mask was not lost on Tim. Lou fully believed that if he just took him to the Chateau, they could fix this.

A gas bomb rolled across the stage, bumping against his shoe before exploding. Tim started coughing and the world changed. 

Lou reached out to help him but Tim pushed him away. The black material of his mask made him look like his bottom jaw had been torn off and replaced with an empty void. Red camo became weeping gore. Crane approached as if he was being pulled on strings, a marionette with a spider’s limbs and hunger for innards. The monsters snapped their necks at unnatural angles to look at him, eyes like bright lamps before turning back to argue. 

Scarecrow was standing there splattered with blood and offered the soldier a drink from a stolen bottle of 30-year old scotch. He had done far more than just _chase._ Lou violently refused. They were supposed to grab the kid and talk this whole mess out over coffee, not traumatise the poor thing! 

Lou was livid and the doctor dismissed his concern with a wave of his hand. “It always was part of the plan, I just never told you.” He said, far more interested in digging something out of his bag of mischief.

It was some type of head brace made from metal and leather scraps from Arkham, adorned with a set of jagged metal teeth. A muzzle for an animal that needed to be brought to heel. His tone was surgical, “The dean is dead, and now no one will pay any attention to the missing Wayne. He will need the mask so he doesn't bite through his tongue, so either hold him still or guard the door.”

Lou was horrified, he could not allow this. “You’re insane.”

“I am quite aware, now _choose._ ” 

A voice came from above to scream in anger, _“Get away from him!”_ Nightwing lept in from the rafters, coming down with such force that if they hadn’t jumped out of the way it would’ve broken bone. Lou powered up his gauntlets as things were quickly going from bad to _catastrophic_. 

However, Crane was perfectly content to grab Tim and let the two of them fight it out. Almost wishing him luck before exiting stage left. 

Nightwing attacked Lou the moment he tried to pursue. He wouldn’t dare leave Tim alone with that madman for a second longer than absolutely necessary, so he’d have to make this quick. It was time to make good on his promise. _Hold on kid, help’s on the way._ He thought, not realizing Nightiwng was thinking the same thing. 

The hero’s escrima stick connected with his forearm and the metal crackled with life. He was hitting a lot harder than the footage from a week ago. 

Lou wasn’t dumb. He got good marks in CQC and if he was feeling full of himself, he could say that in his prime he could've stood toe-to-toe with the guy. But as it stands, the acrobat was twenty years younger and in the best shape of his life. If nothing else, he’d win on stamina alone. 

The soldier fought defensively, blocking to keep his organs from being beaten into paste and the occasional arch of lightning taught him how to get Nightwing to move where he wanted. He didn’t need to win, he just needed him to stand in the right spot. The trap was intended for Tim, but it was time to improvise.

“I’m not fighting you, I’m arranging you.” The acrobat’s face scrunched in confusion at the electric voice and Lou flipped his face shield down. In that instant, the building’s sprinkler system turned on. Dozens of nozzles opened up to drench the theater in heavy rain.

The world fell to slow motion as Nightwing realized his fate. Water was already in his hair and running down his face. Puddles collecting around his boots. He was standing in center-stage with no cover, nothing to grapple him far enough to avoid the blast and it was already far too late. He was standing in a bathtub and Lou was holding the toaster. 

***

Scarecrow shoved the boy into a broom closet. The cramped space was barely large enough to swing a scythe, and he hardly trusted the lone lightbulb hanging from a chain. It wasn’t an ideal place for behavioral therapy but it would have to suffice. The worst had been a pizza parlor restroom he was forced to use some years back. 

The teen’s good arm was tied to his cast with a length of rope. Tim had tried freeing himself but the sharp pain in his chest made him stop. It was easy enough to force the headpiece on him in this state, tightening the bolts until he couldn’t open his jaw. It was crude, but it would suffice for now. The boy wasn’t wailing or thrashing like most under the gas. Instead he went completely silent, like a lamb staring transfixed at the grinding mass of gears and blades that would reduce it to hamburger. 

Crane frowned. It wouldn’t do for the boy to go catatonic. The gas bomb was merely an appetizer and he had more intensive treatments planned before Tim would be ready to be given away. He checked his pulse, timing it with his watch. _Patient’s skin is clammy, heart rate elevated but still well below projections. No signs of arrhythmia._ “Congratulations, you’re a statistical outlier.” He said before leaning down to search his eyes for a hint of what was happening behind them.

Blue eyes tracked his movements but he was otherwise still. This one was not as dim or as dainty as his ilk, he was fighting it.

“You have always been something of an odd duck, haven’t you Timothy? I’m beginning to see why Mr. Hood is fascinated with you.” The youngest Wayne was sure to have some superb secrets in that skull waiting to be dug out. Ah, if only this was for pleasure instead of purpose.

The bag at his side clinked as he dug past tiny bottles and stolen tools to find the right medication. The next dose was given intravenously and measured perfectly for his weight. “Don’t move or you'll lose an eye.” He warned as the tip of the syringe was pressed into his arm. 

Hush had offered to do the honors, but they know how he gets when he holds a grudge. They needed him _intact,_ not mutilated and scattered across a dozen states. 

His work was interrupted by a deafening crack of lightning was heard across the building and the closet was plunged into darkness. Crane turned away from his work and saw that a puddle of water was seeping into the closet. “What on Earth is going on out there?” And how long did it take to incapacitate one flippy fool?

His first thought was to leave his patient and investigate, but the boy had a reputation for running off. So he comes with. 

Dragging Tim behind him like a sack of potatoes, he found the sprinkler system was still running at full blast and pelting them with artificial rain. The air still crackled with ozone. The stimuli caused the boy to squirm, but he didn’t have time to observe the reaction before he ran into Lou and Mr. Hood. They were speaking with their hands again and he knew he was in a lot of trouble.

Crane straightened his coat. “You’re early, I had hoped I would have more time to wrap your gift.” He said cooly, like Jason had walked in while he was baking a cake for his surprise party. Of course the man had to ask what he was doing. 

Black painted nails ran through the boy's hair to make him a little more presentable, the needle-tips of his glove ghosting over the skin. There was a snap of movement at being touched, and he figured he would've lost those fingers if Tim wasn't gagged. 

Was this what mothers feel like when they send their daughters on a date? He had no frame of reference for such things. “I was merely explaining to him that it is a _frightful_ world out there, ready to rip out his soft little insides and that he needs someone to protect him. Someone strong, capable, charming… Am I reminding you of anyone we know?” 

The idea was perfectly sound. Snap his mind like a bundle of sticks, then let Red’s kind nature and Stockholm syndrome take care of the rest. Soon they could have all the dates and Netflix parties or whatever it is young couples do these days. “A disfigurement would really drive the point home, but I wasn’t certain what would be to your tastes.” It seemed a shame to take one of his eyes, a winter’s sky was a rare color. “You have shown a fondness for wheelchairs-” The curve of his scythe hooked around Tim’s calf and Jason stopped him.

He was a _person,_ not something to be cut to size and ‘prepared to his tastes’ like he was ordering at a steakhouse. “Stop talking.” Jason threatened, disgusted by every word that came out of his mouth. “This is _fucked up,_ even by my considerably low standards. Tell me you didn’t do this to Eddie.”

“What? Of course not, don’t be _obscene._ ” Crane didn’t understand why he was bothered by this. He was giving him exactly what he needed; someone damaged to love that could never leave. A project.

And the boy would be _fine._ The night terrors wouldn’t last more than a few months and he would be stable enough to leave the house in less than a year. Red acted like he wouldn’t adore every chance to dote on him, lavishing affection until the screaming stopped. Plenty of people would be happy to be in Timothy’s place.

Perhaps he doubted his own abilities to provide care? The doctor would be happy to provide a reading list on the subject. 

As they spoke, Tim was drawn to something on the stage. His steps were clumsy and slow as he tried to find where the world actually was. Meditation training kept his mind on this side of the cliff, each breath was measured to the millisecond. Every sense was turned up to max and he felt he was standing on the world’s highest tightrope. One wrong step meant dashing his brains on concrete.

It was hard to tell how much was real and what were hallucinations, and his other senses confirmed the floor wasn’t moving. 

The polished wood underneath his sneakers kept trying to slither away and cold water leaked into his socks. _Puddles from the sprinklers._ He reminded himself, pointedly not looking at the lake that manifested in front of him. The waters bottomless and dark enough to hold a number of deep-sea nightmares. Ugly-eyed creatures with needles for teeth swam past and leeches swarmed around his ankles. They tried to bite but their touch was less than a shadow. Whispering voices in his ears were nothing more than blood rushing in his veins. _They’re not real, they’ll only hurt you if you let them._

There was a body lying face down in the water. The victim’s clothing was a black and blue bodysuit, melted in parts from a high electrical current. Exposed skin was charred and split like a pumpkin after a bad Halloween. Clumps of dark hair were washed off the stage. _Nightwing, but still not real._

But this illusion didn’t go away when he touched it.

He cried out as hard as could through the mask, wailing until Jason wiped the blood off his hands. There was no pulse, no anything. Tim was wide-eyed and frantic, far more likely to harm himself than anyone else in this state. Holding him at the wrist, he saw the teen for the first time. 

So this was Timothy Drake, _the new Robin_. A stranger that happened to have the same face as someone that once held his heart in his hands. The teen was panicked, alone, and trying to stab his way through Jason’s glove with one of his birdarangs. The metal tip was digging into the back of his hand but he didn’t notice. Everything was coming back back like a baseball bat to the skull.

Jason didn’t like how much this was reminding him of _Tim_ and he _absolutely hated_ the feelings churning away in his gut. This didn’t hurt or tug on his heart strings in the slightest, and there was no reason he should feel guilty about any of this. It was true because he told himself it was. 

He expected more of Robin’s cocky bitch-ass attitude, or at least _something_ more punchable but he was the same right down to the soft curl to his hair and the apples of his cheeks. For a moment, he could pull him into his arms like the other day was nothing more than a bad dream. But it wasn’t real.

This was no different than having leftover feelings for a character on TV. The person he 'knew' never existed, even if a disgusting little part of him wished he did. He wasn’t going to fall for the same trick twice, but he was still going to take that damn thing off his head.

Crane had certainly flunked shop class. The ‘teeth’ were crudely cut into aluminum and he cut himself twice as Tim tried to wrestle out his grasp. It was a good thing he was up to date on his tetanus shots. The damn thing even left red marks where the bolts pressed into his skin. 

Tim rubbed his sore jaw and blinked a few times. “...Jay?” He asked, not understanding the person in front of him. At any moment he could be thrown back into the nightmare.

Jason didn’t know what to say. 

Spindly fingers tapped his shoulder as Scarecrow silently a vial of the antidote, the liquid was a tempting shade of green. It was a chance to be the hero and save his prince, make the ‘happily ever after’ his soul wanted. “You need this, you _both_ need this.”

Red Hood’s signature growl came back to his voice to say, “Leave him for the paramedics. We need to get out of here.” Per his orders they grabbed their gear and moved out, leaving Tim with Nightwing's still-smoldering corpse.

But it wasn’t _actually_ Nightwing's still-smoldering corpse, merely one designed to look the part.

What had actually happened was that Lou sent a message to Jason the moment he saw that Scarecrow had gone off the deep end. 

During the fight with Nightwing, the sprinkler system drew Dick’s attention up and away from the trap door under his feet. The polished wood flooring was too slick, soaking wet with nothing to stop him from falling.

A metal box snapped shut and was filled with an aerosolized sedative. It certainly made kidnapping and transport of 'guests' much easier. 

Then a body, appropriately dressed, was fried in his place. 

***

Nightwing fought every step of the way.

Inside it was pitch-black and claustrophobic, refusing to let him stretch his arms or legs fully. A net tightened around him the more he fought against it and the air tasted like sour medicine. 

Adrenaline shots would keep him awake if it was a sedative, but it would push the poison deeper into his veins if he wasn't. Jamming the needle into his thigh, he had to take that gamble. The box was being moved.

Jason's hand hovered over the control as he watched the rapid zig-zags of an elevated heart rate. There was a fine line between anesthesia and euthanasia, and he could tip it anywhere he wanted. Dick was struggling with everything he had. 

Lou followed behind with a fire axe in case he needed to use the emergency hatch. "He's resisting."

"As expected."

It didn't matter what goodies he kept in his pockets, he would succumb eventually. 

Dick was livid when they first met. Jason had been chosen behind his back and Bruce had no right to take another Robin. ‘It wasn't his costume to give away’ and 'how dare he bring a child into this life?' Grayson had been a special case, while Jason was some random kid he pulled out a dumpster and taught karate.

 _Replacement._ He said, and that was one of the nicer things. Bruce never wanted _him,_ he wanted ‘the good old days’ with Grayson back and found someone gullible enough to believe. 

The dosage crept higher and Dick's heart rate plunged. The screen flashed from green to red, beeping that he was getting close to that line. 

"Sir?... Sir, your orders?" Lou snapped him out of his memory. He had been talking to him for the past few minutes and was waiting for his decision. He hadn't heard a damn thing. The machine was turned down, letting him stabilize to a fitful sleep. The sound of Tim sobbing over the body still echoed in his head. Some of the fear gas must have seeped into his helmet and it was the only explanation he was willing to consider.

Soon after, Nightwing was moved to the medical wing for storage with a bed already waiting. They stripped him of his boots and gloves, there were strict orders not to touch his mask. “No one wants to see his ugly mug anyway.”

Various people were suggesting what to do with the hero. A part of him wanted him to suffer as he did; wandering around a god-forsaken desert, roasting under the sun and freezing at night. Delirious from heatstroke, reduced to eating scorpions and rats to survive. He was coughing up shrapnel for months afterwards, nobody should know what their lungs taste like. 

Lou’s grip tightened on the axe, all it took was one nod from his boss and his head would go flying. He voted not to waste the bed. 

They still used restraints on the slim chance there was an issue with the drugs. A chemical cocktail made up of sedatives, vitamins, minerals, was on a constant drip. A doctor asked how long he planned to keep him under, if it was longer than a few days they would need to consider a feeding tube. 

He groaned when he realized that he had no idea how long they would keep him. It had been _days_ since Barbara’s death when he expected Bruce to be at his doorstep in less than twenty-four hours. All the clues he left behind, the warnings about Dr Elliot, they should have figured it out by now. People were applauding and slapping him on the back. They called him a brilliant mastermind that stumped the Bat, but the victory felt so hollow. They… they honestly thought he would kill Barbara.

Dick had always expected the worst of him, but he expected at least Bruce to put the pieces together. Instead they completely ignored everything else and bought the idea that he was a monster without a second thought. They were right, weren't they? But he was trapped on this train and had no choice but to see it through. “We don’t need him too healthy, just _alive._ ” 

He needed to end this wretched me. This wasn’t supposed to go on this long. He needed a big enough fish to get his attention, something he knows Bruce would move heaven and earth to rescue. It was time for the nuclear option; he needed the Joker.

Scarecrow was standing in the doorway, waiting for his chance to examine the new captive. He wanted to know what Nightwing was afraid of.

Jason denied his request, saying “I think it’s time the doctor had a taste of his own medicine.”

The man’s demeanor changed in an instant, the confidence of Scarecrow ripped away to leave _Jonathan._ There was no room to argue; he had knowingly violated the rules of their agreement and nearly jeopardized their whole operation. It was more than fair to be denied a part in their final bow, and he would go to his execution with all the dignity of a Georgian gentleman. 

With his head held high, the doctor was led to a secluded place in a public park. Off in the distance the moon was rising on the bay and they had a beautiful old tree, a rope, and a chair. He needed nothing else. It was only the two of them as Jonathan straightened his clothes one last time. He would have preferred to do this in his cell at Arkham on Halloween night, but that choice was forfeit. 

“You’ve rehearsed this. Still, one wrong move and it’s not pretend anymore.” Jason said as he made the last few loops of the noose. “First you’ll feel sick to your stomach, it’s going to be hard to breathe but you have to try.”

“Spare me your warnings, it wouldn’t be fun if it was safe.” A handful of pills was swallowed and there was no turning back now. He didn’t speak again until he was standing on the chair with the rope around his neck. “Thank you… for Edward.” _For not bringing him here, for allowing me to die first, for saving him, saving me._ Mr. Hood’s heart was betraying him again, he was the one hesitating. “Any words for him, just in case?”

He smiled. “No. I am no poet and nothing I say would ever be enough.” Edward was strong, he would move on. There were plenty more puzzles in him to write. Crane had never given a heartfelt goodbye in his life and he wasn’t going to start now. 

“Although I do have a few for you; you’re far too kind for this line of work.” Before Jason could stop him, he kicked the chair out from under him and the rope went taught.

Dr. Jonathan Crane was still hanging there when the police found him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear that I’m not dead. 
> 
> I want to take the time to thank all of my readers for their patience. This chapter took far longer than I had planned and it wasn't for lack of interest in the story. A lot of complicated life stuff happened that I’m still trying to clean up. Problems with work, family while somehow not losing my mind in the process. Maybe someday the crap will be over and I can finally take a nap.  
> I hope you find that the chapter is worth the wait.
> 
> Cheers.

It was never a dull moment in the GCPD morgue, and the sheer backlog of bodies made him wonder how anyone kept track. He had suspicions that half would mold over before they were even examined, but two cadavers had the honor of being pushed to the front of the line. On the table to his left was the body of a young man in a melted costume that would remain exactly as it was, ‘left’ for someone else to bother with. The one on the right was far more interesting. 

The process of it was fascinating; the neatly laid out series of steps, the hunt for clues, and to bring justice to a victim that could no longer speak. For a moment he was energized, before he acknowledged that calling Jonathan a ‘victim’ was a stretch at best. He hadn’t been one of those since he was a child.

The body on the steel table didn’t look that different from a corpse even when he was alive. Rail thin from a lifetime of malnutrition, the speed bumps of his ribs still visible even under the thin sheet. After every arrest Crane left a little more wrinkled or with another streak of gray in his hair. But this was the last time he’d pass through those doors, his long career of crime was over.

The medical examiner bent and twisted Crane’s arm at the wrist before testing his fingers. The muscles were pliant and cold as snow. “No sign of rigor mortis.” He said into the tape recorder. “Cause of death was judged at the scene to be suicide by hanging, no signs of coercion or other trauma are immediately visible.” If he wanted to be pedantic, the necklace of bruises pointed to a compressed carotid artery rather than a snapped neck. 

All of the tools were freshly sharpened and glass jars were waiting to collect his organs. No matter how many times he had done this dance, it always felt like the first time. “Commencing the autopsy of Dr. Jonathan Crane, Master of Fear.” He said into the tape recorder as he pressed the blade against his sternum.

Pale eyes snapped open and Crane grabbed the man by the wrist. Instead of a look of pure terror at the dead coming back to life, he was greeted by a red head sticking out his tongue.  _ “Eddie.”  _ He started, setting the scalpel back on the tray. “You’re not supposed to be here, or even touching anything. If anyone sees you-”

Edward sighed, “I know, I know. I am but a humble prisoner you’ve been keeping in your basement for strange sexual purposes.”

Jonathan frowned and grabbed his clothes, pulling a sweater over his lanky frame. His freckled shoulders returning to the cloth prison from whence they came. Hopefully he’d get a little warmth back in his blood. “Have you been sniffing my chemicals? You’re having delusions again. And I almost  _ died _ , have you no compassion for me?” 

Edward had no doubt he’d survive, Jason would have cut him down or shocked his heart with a car battery before it came to that. “I wanted to see how far you’d pretend to be dead for a scare. I  _ bathed _ you.”

“Nothing the world hasn’t seen before.” His arms were crossed, immune to his sense of humor. Jonathan was still stiff as a board when he was pulled into a hug. The master of fear was pouting.

He wasn’t the only one that could be frightening as Edward brushed some hair out of his face. “Do you really think I’d let something as petty as death keep you away from me?” There was a sparkle in Crane’s eyes as the promise brought to mind an embalmed corpse filled with wires, reanimated by lightning like Frankenstein’s monster or perhaps something more poetic. A preserved slice of his heart kept in a silver locket or buttons carved from his femur sewn onto Edward’s favorite vest. He adored those little nightmares until living seemed dull in comparison. It was a shame that he wouldn’t see what would happen post-mortem. Although he loved the trappings of occultism, he didn’t actually believe in hauntings. 

“You don’t seem to have any brain damage from oxygen loss, let’s see if the rest of you still works.” Crane finished getting dressed and they took the back way out of the building. A militia vehicle was waiting. The sidewalk next to the police station was cracked and split, it was nice to see their tax dollars going to a good cause. Crane warned him, “Watch your step. If you break your ankle, I’m not carrying you.”

“What, you didn’t learn a pack-strap carry in Boy Scouts?”

“I never went to Boy Scouts, Granny thought it was a training ground for paganism and sodomy.”

Edward had to take a moment to steady himself against a concrete wall or his laughter would alert every cop in the city. He couldn’t believe the things that man can say with a straight face, the worst part was that he never knew if he was joking. “Thank goodness for that! Imagine what kind of devil-worshipping deviant you could’ve turned out to be.” From the wry look on Crane’s face, he was going to do something that would deeply upset a bible-thumping ghost. Edward hoped it was sodomy. 

There was a slight disappointment that Mr. Hood was not there to greet them when they returned. “I heard he was introducing himself to an old friend of ours.” Edward said ‘old friend’ with the same tone most people say ‘convicted pedophile’ and Crane couldn’t help but smile. Mr. Hood’s sadism was a thing of beauty. He hoped he could see the carnage when it was over.

***

Out by the docks where the air stunk of fish, there was a warehouse that had been turned into a makeshift hideout. Neon pink and green paint was splashed onto the walls while strings of blinking Christmas lights were draped over every surface. The bright colors and cheery lights gave a strange festivity to the stockpile of hard drugs and weapons. 

Joker was pacing back and forth, ranting to his captive audience about the sheer injustice of it all. “Everywhere I go it’s all ‘ _ Help me, I’m on fire!’  _ or  _ ‘Sorry Mr J, I don’t have your money. My drug dealers are hanging off light poles by their intestines!’ _ ” First he was kidnapped by some poorly-dressed biker and now even robbing a bank wouldn’t get him on the six o’ clock news. Even his dearest Batman forgot about him like one of his little brats when they were old enough to shave. It was enough to drive someone, well, _ batty! _

A group of thugs were piled onto a threadbare couch, nodding dumbly and agreeing to everything their boss said. “And who does this guy think he is, going after the commissioner’s little girl like that? That was my idea first!” Whacking her on TV was just tasteless. The Joker would never stoop so low, at least not with camcorders being as expensive as they are. Scarecrow being involved just made the whole thing worse, he never met a man less funny in his life. He swore that the man’s face would crack and fall off if he ever smiled, now somebody went and turned him into a tire swing. Disgraceful.

Harley was petting one of her hyenas and humming along, saying “We should go afta that no good, joke-stealing jerk and teach him a lesson!” There was a raucous cheer of agreement and muscled juggalos proudly declared what they would do to this Hell’s Angel reject if they only had the chance. There were graphic descriptions of broken bones, dead sisters, eyeballs popped out, and cacti being shoved into very personal places.

A voice from above said “Howdy” and they screamed like little girls as the Red Hood sprayed the room with machine-gun fire. One magazine of an AK-47 later, he jumped down to flush out any survivors.  _ So much for their threats,  _ he snorted. The goons were swiss cheese and a dozen lava lamps were ruined and leaking their guts out onto the floor. There was glass crunching under his boots with each step.

Harley got clipped in the leg, leaving a trail of red behind her as she crawled on her stomach. The pain must have been excruciating, but her only thought was getting a weapon to defend that reptile. He kicked the gun out of her reach and a quick stomp on the wound sent her howling. Just because she was an addict protecting her poison, didn’t mean he’d hesitate.

Naturally Joker didn’t have a scratch, he had grabbed one of his lieutenants to use as a meat shield the moment bullets started flying. Jason tore the corpse away and socked him straight in the jaw. 

“You can’t do this to me, I’m the clown prince of crime! I have rights! I am more than bat-bait!” He screamed and thrashed as Jason shoved him onto his stomach, taping his hands behind him with a roll of duct tape. There was a brief moment where he debated saving the tranquilizer and simply beating the clown into unconsciousness. All it took was a moment wrapped up in his own head for someone to get the drop on him. There was the cock of the revolver and a familiar voice ordered him to put his hands up. Jason cursed his luck.

Jim Gordon looked a lot older than he remembered, worn too thin from too much heartache. The gun in his hands wasn’t as steady as it should be and there was the sneaking suspicion that he left his AA chip next to a gymnastics trophy. There was no backup anywhere in sight and he couldn’t hear any sirens. Coming here alone was suicide, but maybe that was the point. It was a lot better than trying to find a reason to live in guilt and the bottom of a bottle. The barrel never drifted from Jason’s chest and he was close enough to see the man had been crying. He was pleasantly surprised that Gordon didn’t simply shoot him at the first opportunity. After what was shown on the news, he couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it. 

Joker shot the Red Hood a saccharine-smug grin before turning to his savior, “Jimmy! My hero! I always knew you cared-” A pistol whip to the back of his head knocked him out and maybe caused some hemorrhaging. Jason couldn’t bring himself to care and said “I didn’t expect you to care if the world was a few clowns lighter.”

Gordon scoffed, “I'm not here because of that piece of garbage. Scarecrow’s dead and that means you’re the only one left. Now I'm not going to ask a third time,  _ put your hands up and get on the ground. _ ”

Jason put the AK-47 on the ground, pulling out a black brick of a phone out of his vest pocket. The movements were slow and deliberate, the last thing he wanted was a slug in his chest because the old man got jumpy. “Your daughter’s alive, Gordon and I can put her on the phone.” He dialed the number and tossed the phone to him. Hesitantly, Gordon picked it up and put it to his ear. Not sure if the thing was actually a bomb. “...Hello?” 

“Dad? Dad, is that you? Are you okay?” Her voice came crystal clear on the other end and it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard in his life. 

They talked for a little while, making sure it was really her and not some kind of cruel joke. The Gordons had dealt with too many cruel jokes in their lives. The old man wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand before putting his glasses back on. “Can you take me to her?” He asked in a small voice, ready and willing to make a deal with the devil if it meant he could see her again. And right now, that’s exactly what the Red Hood was.

“Of course, but I have to sedate you for the trip. Formalities and all that.” And Gordon agreed, even though he couldn’t promise he wasn’t going to wake up at the bottom of the bay.

The Joker was unceremoniously shoved into the trunk of the car, while Gordon was settled into the passenger’s seat. He was surprised when his arm was wiped with an alcohol swab before the needle touched his skin. The lunatics he dealt with usually didn’t care about things like that. Jason’s voice went soft, he was speaking as himself and not the mask. “She’s perfectly safe, Jim. I promise I’d never do anything to hurt you two. I’m only after some bats and clowns.” 

Moments later they were on the steps of the Chateau. Gordon and the Red Hood took the elevator up, while soldiers strapped the unconscious clown down to a gurney before carting him off for ‘processing’.

The elevator doors slid shut and Gordon was alone with the mysterious Red Hood, who was watching the floors tick by with his hands on his hips. There were no motions to restrain him and not even a gun against his back. He half-considered wrestling the assault rifle away from him, but then what would he do? Even if his aim was perfect and he never had to worry about ammunition, he was still one old man trapped behind enemy lines. The sniper on the railing would get him before he even touched the doorknob. 

Gordon tilted his head in the direction they took the Joker, asking “You’ve been keeping tabs on him since the opera, why? What are you going to do to him?”

“Nothing he doesn’t deserve.” He replied and their non-conversation was cut short by a digital chime. This was the right floor.

Barbara had been reading a book when she heard voices in the hallway. The door swung open and her Dad ran to her side the moment Red Hood gave the go-ahead. Gordon pulled his daughter in a hug so tight it threatened to hurt her spine all over again. “We thought you were dead.” He said, holding his eyes shut to keep from crying. 

There was a glance over to Jason for an explanation he wouldn’t give. “What did you  _ do? _ ” She asked and for the first time since her capture she didn’t recognize him and Jason couldn’t stand it. He walked out before the accusations started flying, he would rather be called a coward than be there when she found out Nightwing was dead.

It would be so much easier if she didn’t care about him, he could put a bullet in Dick’s head and not give it a second thought. Jason went out to the roof and leaned against the railing, taking a brief moment to watch his city. This might be the last chance he’d ever get, but too bad he couldn’t spend it alone. 

The woman glanced over to him, her eyes hidden behind designer sunglasses as her legs dangled over the edge of the building. “The Red Hood’s work is never done, is it?” She said with a sympathetic sigh, not that she got tired of seeing him frantically run around the building. It was Barbara or rather, a fashion magazine’s idea of her. Her skin was airbrushed and perfect, her hair came down in fiery waves and even her bosom was a size more ample. Naturally her wheelchair was nowhere in sight. "You look like you need to blow off some steam." She offered, taking the lollipop out of her mouth. Her lips stained pink. 

Normally Jason would lash out at the sheer disrespect, but today he couldn't muster the energy. A smile tugged at his lips under the mask, if he was sixteen he might have actually taken him up on that. Now there wasn’t a cold enough day in Hell. "Not with you." He laughed, did he seriously look like that big of a mark? 

“You know I can be anyone you want me to be.” Karlo promised and the clay shifted, this time twisting into a man’s shape. It was Lou, this time about the same age as when they first met. Minus the pound of sand stuck to his skin and the gaping wound in his stomach. The same ‘Hollywood attractive’ filter was slathered on, making him look like the star of a homoerotic recruitment ad rather than a man that ever saw combat. 

Jason scoffed, the taste of plastic never turned him on. It wasn’t worth getting roofied and having his wallet stolen. He opened his mouth to make a joke when Karlo changed again. “Or maybe you're into the ‘all natural’ look.” That voice made the hair on the back of Jason’s neck stand on end. This suddenly stopped being funny.

This one wasn't a mannequin like the others. A teen wearing one of Jason’s faded hoodies and acid-washed jeans ripped at the knee. Instead of a perfect cat's eye, there was a smudge of black eyeliner but Karlo couldn’t resist adding just a  _ touch _ of sparkle to bring out the color of his eyes. Tim's hands were folded behind his back like they had bumped into each other on the street. He was nervously looking up at Jason with a mix of regret and hope. The way Jason’s breath hitched gave it away, he had been caught. 

This was way too close for comfort and alarm bells were going off in his head. There was a soft touch on his arm as Karlo leaned in for a kiss and the next thing he heard was the sound of panicked screaming. The pin of an ice grenade in his hand and Karlo swearing up a storm while he clutched at the frozen pieces of his face. Tan blood spilling out between his fingers as Jason took his exit. 

The real Lou was at his desk, checking street footage for any signs of the caped crusader. Batman had stopped chasing his cape over fake police reports and fell off the radar again. Occasionally he checked over his informants in Wayne Enterprises, wanting to be the first to know if Tim’s location had been leaked. He had wanted to put a security detail on the teen after what happened with Crane, but the boss wouldn’t have it. As far as Jason was concerned, he was a dead issue never to be spoken of again.

There was a splatter of clay on the Boss's jacket when he walked in, but he knew better than to ask. Karlo undoubtedly deserved it. “What’s Hush up to? I haven’t heard him complain about something for ten minutes.”

Lou replied with his hands, “No one’s reported him leaving the area, so hopefully he’s high as a kite on oxycontin again.” 

He asked how his mouth was healing, Lou tried to say ‘Decent’ but it came out ‘dissent’.  _ Eh, close enough.  _

***

_ "Poor little Tim Drake. You've lost your mind, haven't you?" _

Tim was not having a very good day. He spent the first few hours after the attack drifting in and out of consciousness, trapped somewhere between nightmare and normal. There were voices that came and went as the lights on the ceiling flew past. The air stunk of disinfectant and cheap air freshener. Doctors came by to poke and prod, checking pupil dilation or taking another sample of blood. He didn’t want more medication. With medication came sleep, and with sleep came nightmares. 

_ “The patient must be kept sedated, he’s dangerous to himself and others.”  _

When he closed his eyes he could see Nightwing lying on the stage, his skin charred and split. Sometimes it was Barbara crying and pleading for her life, their awful last moments played on an endless loop. Other times he was back in the van with Jason. There was that half-grin of his while he talked, he had one hand on the wheel with the other holding Tim's. They were driving to nowhere in particular and nothing existed past the glow of orange street lights. The last time they were together was a bittersweet moment that never lasted long enough.

Tim couldn’t move at all when it came time for Jason to suit up again. All he could do was watch when the red helmet became an iron maiden, snapping shut with a sickening crunch. The man inside was killed instantly and now only the Red Hood remained. All of their blood was on Tim’s hands.

He could hear Bruce and a doctor talking out in the hallway. They went back-and-forth about tests and treatments, the doctor showed him a chart with a zig-zag pattern. "Permanent side-effects are rare, but we can't rule out the possibility." They advised to keep the teen under strict observation, avoiding anything that may aggravate his condition. After the attack at the school, Bruce wanted absolute secrecy and no one was allowed to go near Tim without his permission. Even if they said they were family. Or rather,  _ especially  _ if they said they were family.

“What _ kind _ of side-effects?” Bruce asked and Tim could practically see the disapproving look on his mentor’s face, as if the situation could be threatened into getting better. 

The doctor was glum as he explained, swallowing thickly before looking down at a clipboard. It would not do if something happened to the son of their biggest benefactor. “Anxiety and panic attacks are common, with paranoia and hallucinations in more extreme cases. Maybe even violent outbursts but it’s too early to tell. The serum used must be a new strain; every time it seems to be responding to treatment, it keeps resurging somehow.” The doctor thanked Bruce for trusting them with this and mentioned there were talks of renaming the place to the  _ Elliot Memorial Hospital.  _ Even Bruce agreed that this was the safest place for him right now.

But sitting around doing nothing wasn't helping the nervous energy buzzing around in his skull and he didn’t understand why Bruce wasn’t taking him back to the cave. If this was a new strain of toxin they should be making a cure, not wasting time here. Tim nursed a cup of green tea his mentor brought him, avoiding the tiny paper cup of pills on his nightstand. Bruce wouldn’t have it. “You need to take those.” He said firmly. “Don’t make me force-feed you. You know I can.”

The teen missed coffee and the tea was some artisanal blend he wasn’t familiar with. It supposed to soothe his stomach but Bruce didn’t notice that he wasn’t actually drinking it. “I feel better when I don’t eat, for some reason food only makes it worse.” Water was fine and anything he could stomach, he couldn’t eat a second time. For some reason nothing tasted right.

“That’s the toxin talking, you need to keep your strength up.” The man even tried bringing him a milkshake from a fast food place down the street, bypassing his usual junk food ban if it meant he was at least getting  _ some _ calories. Tim took a spoonful loaded up with nuts and chocolate, despite his best efforts he couldn't make himself swallow. Another thing that tasted like poison.

Bruce frowned in disapproval when he spat it out. He was getting nowhere fast with this kid. 

“They can’t keep locked up here without my consent and stepfather’s lips at that. The teen pretended to be calm, _focused,_ and while he could fool some of the staff, he knew that what was in his bloodstream was not so easily ignored. “I know, and that’s exactly _why_ you’re staying here. You're not in your right mind, Tim and you’re not going to get any better as long as you keep hiding your symptoms.”

“I’m not-”

Bruce grabbed his arm and made the teen face him, demanding “What do you see when you look at me?”

Tim had been avoiding his eyes the entire time he was here, his head weighed down by guilt and failure. Even his mentor wasn’t spared from the toxin’s distortion. Bruce’s pale blue eyes were dead and lifeless, a cold contrast to the pink lines that divided his face into a macabre jigsaw. Like it had been sliced apart and pasted back together.

“I don’t see anything.” Tim lied, unable to hide the fear in his eyes and Bruce’s face twisted into a scowl. 

Tired and exasperated, Bruce decided to leave and grabbed his folder of paperwork. “I’m going to see about some more tests and hopefully you’ll be more honest with me when I get back.” He stopped at the door, one hand on the frame as he added one more dig “Richard died because of you, so at least have the decency to put some value on your life.” With that, he slammed the door and left Tim alone.

Tim put his head in his hands, trying to process this rationally. He wasn’t allowed to have a phone and it must have been desperation that drove him to turning on the black brick hidden in his shirt. He couldn’t risk his family finding the phone Jason gave him.

The screen flashed to life and he was surprised it still worked, half-expecting the thing to detonate out of Jason's spite. There were messages from Lou apologizing for what happened at the school and explaining that all he wanted was to get the two of them to talk. He sincerely hoped Tim was okay. 'He won't talk about it, but I know he misses you a lot.'

There was a stab of pain before Tim buried that line of thought six feet deep. He couldn’t deal with that right now and had to rely on Bruce’s life motto; “Save the city now, deal with trauma later. Preferably never.”

A shadow passed over the door as a security guard stood watch and Tim caught the outline of a gun under his jacket. The uniform wasn’t part of hospital security or anything from Wayne Enterprises, what kind of rent-a-cop did Bruce think could stand up against trained military? This was just cannon fodder unless it wasn’t to keep  _ other people out  _ but rather-

Tim was being delusional again and reminded himself that paranoia was one of the side effects. He was simply seeing assassins in every shadow, murderers behind every bush. This was Bruce they were talking about, the man may have the emotional depth of a puddle but he knows what he’s doing. He  _ is  _ the world’s greatest detective, after all.

Most of the time.

He barely passed the commercial break before dumping his tea into the potted plant, asking the guard if he could get a refill and a snack at the cafeteria. Of course he refused, offering instead to get something delivered to the room. 

Tim did his best ‘spoiled brat’ groan and flopped down into a chair. A pouty rich kid could not be bothered to hand over a simple cup and gestured for the guard to get it himself. In a surprising display of professionalism; the guard didn’t roll his eyes as he complied. Not realizing he walked right into a trap. 

Even with a broken sternum and a fake cast, he was still more than capable of knocking out a security guard and locking him in the bathroom. The plastic ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign hanging off the door would serve him well. There was a sigh of relief when he found that the guard really  _ did  _ have a gun, Tim threw away the bullets just to be safe. 

A stolen jacket was tugged tighter around himself, trying to find a sense of safety in the disguise. He wandered down the building’s maze-like halls and avoided anyone that came close. He knew this place from pamphlets and billboards of smiling nurses but the only thing on his mind was that he had to keep moving, that he was going to die if he stayed here. At some point, he ended up in front of a lacquered door with a quaint little nameplate reading  _ Dr. Thomas Elliot.  _ No matter what they did, everything always came back to  _ this  _ hospital and  _ this  _ doctor. It was time someone found out  _ why.  _

Picking the lock was child’s play and he opened the door to find a lovely corner office. It was bright and airy, with a large bookcase on the opposite wall mostly filled with knick knacks and awards. A large potted fern next to a window that looked freshly watered. All the room needed was a  _ Live, Laugh, Love  _ sign to reach maximum blandness. 

The desk itself was slightly more interesting, neurotically neat with a stack of fluff celebrity magazines sitting on the corner. Anything with articles about Bruce and his sons, but most of the pictures were cut out. A quick rifle through the desk found an empty bottle of antidepressants and a folder filled with notes, the doctor’s handwriting was like perfect little stitches. This case was personal.

It all started when one of Elliot’s old professors had tracked him down, desperately needing his help. His partner, a man named Arthur Wynne, had been suffering from a brain tumor that went undetected for years. The professor had meant a great deal to him, so the doctor did everything he could to help.

Elliot had connections, he could get his hands on all sorts of cutting edge treatments and equipment. Not all of it was legal but even after multiple surgeries and months of work, Arthur was still declared terminal. The news was sad but understandable, Arthur was practically stage four before treatment even started. The professor did not take the news well, he started some project in secret and as Elliot put it ‘attracted the wrong kind of attention.’

A stranger suddenly appeared at his side, asking too many questions and constantly looked over the surgeon's shoulder. The man was crude and charismatic, Elliot called Mr. Hood a cheap charlatan looking for a score. A lowly worm taking advantage of the couple’s grief, wanting to take Arthur overseas for some mysterious treatment. Despite Elliot’s adamant protests, the professor agreed.

After that, the tumor started breaking down at a rapid rate with brain tissue repairing itself like nothing ever happened. It completely defied even the most advanced medical science, and they called it a miracle. The only things Tim knew that could do something like that were alien or magic. 

Elliot was livid that this  _ wretch _ could succeed so effortlessly where he failed and the professor’s star pupil was suddenly overshadowed. Tim could practically feel the jealousy emanating from the page. The writing didn’t continue much further than that and there were vague notes about starting up therapy sessions with the professor again. The doctor’s handwriting was deteriorating.

Things took a turn for the strange when Tim found a line of messy handwriting near the edge of a page asking, 'What do you call a doctor with bodies in the basement?'

“A hippocratic hypocrite“ Tim said aloud before he even realized what this was. It was a riddle and he had heard the name  _ Arthur Wynne _ before. He was the inventor of the crossword puzzle.

Some digging revealed that the therapist that treated Elliot after his father’s death was none other than Dr. Jonathan Crane. Scarecrow had someone so precious he would do anything to protect, someone he called  _ Green _ . They were talking about Edward Nygma.  _ He  _ was their silent fourth and it was easy to guess who ‘Mr. Hood’ was.  _ That's why Jason needed the Lazarus pit...  _

Bruce’s voice called out, “Find anything interesting?" and Tim nearly jumped out of his skin. 

Tim quickly closed the drawer, saying “A crippling addiction to sticky notes but no, just boring doctor stuff.” A few choice pages were discreetly tucked into his sleeve. “I was feeling better so I went for a walk, I was hoping I could find you a nice memento or something." 

Bruce glanced over the side, thinking about something for a moment. Tim must have hallucinated the man locking the door when he stepped inside. The man grabbed a chair and sat down, resting his face in one of his hands. He had that frustrated look again, but there was something predatory in his eyes that Tim didn’t like. “You’ve disobeyed orders multiple times, you  _ know _ it’s not safe to be wandering alone… I think you need to convince me why I should even let you  _ out of this room _ .” The tone dipped into a condescending threat. 

Tim’s brow creased in confusion. This was clearly a test of some sort, but the slight smirk on his mentor's lips was unsettling. He had seen it somewhere before, the tone, the grin, but he couldn’t remember where. The man found amusement in his hesitation, uncrossing his legs as he added, "If you need suggestions, why don't you start with how you got the Red Hood wrapped around your finger and we'll work our way down." 

"You're not Bruce." Tim realized, pushing the imposter aside only to have him grab his wrist. Tim lashed out and the man’s demeanor suddenly softened, like what happened before was nothing more than a bad dream.

Bruce looked hurt by his distrust. “What? Were you expecting clay? It’s  _ me,  _ Tim. I’m trying to help you.” His hand moved up to squeeze the teen's shoulder. "Hey, I know that I've never been the father I should have been but I can at least be a friend to you now. Is there anything I can do to make this easier on you?" He gave him his best 'Bruce Wayne smile' but Tim was unphased. The heartbroken look soon twisted to exasperated hate. “You’re not buying this, are you? You piece of shit brat, you’re not worth the effort.” 

The hairs on the back of Tim’s neck stood straight up. He knew where he recognized that voice, that condescending tilt to his head of a man that saw everyone like a piece of meat.  _ This _ was what he was hiding behind those bandages. This was starting to make a strange kind of sense. “Mr. Hood doesn’t know I’m here, does he Hush? Or do you prefer to be called  _ Tommy? _ ”

In a fit of rage, Hush backhanded him across the face and went straight for his throat. The teen’s back slamming against the desk. Hushed grabbed a pair of scissors, a pot full of pens and pencils clattered to the floor. 

Tim tried to wrestle it out of his grasp but that damn cast kept getting in the way. He braced himself for pain, but instead there was something warm spilling over his hand.

The man had grabbed Tim’s wrist and pulled it towards his stomach, jamming the blade into his side. Tim knew what the public would see; Bruce Wayne bleeding out from a stomach wound with his son’s fingerprints on the weapon. Poor crazy little Tim tried to kill his adopted dad.

He didn’t know if the police sirens were real or just in his head, but he wasn’t going to stand there to find out. People came running when they heard the fight and a security guard helped the imposter onto his feet. “-don’t hurt him. It’s not his fault, he’s not in his right mind.” Said Tommy, pretending to be a saint all while laughing on the inside.

Tim ran as hard and as fast as he could, wiping his bloodied hand on his shirt and zipping the jacket to cover up the stain. 

Alfred was stuck at the front desk, arguing in that polite way that only he could. Dick once described it as being smothered by a lace pillow. “He’s my grandson, surely you must understand-” The lady behind the counter looked like she hated her life, “He’s in a very delicate condition right now so the doctors aren’t allowing him any visitors at this time. We’ll call you when the situation changes.”

“Then can I at least have some things sent up to his room?” Alfred started, gesturing to a basket of scones when he was grabbed by the arm and pulled away. He pulled Tim into a hug the moment they were alone. “Master Timothy!” He said in a hushed whisper. “Oh, what a blessing it is to see you. How are you fairing?”

Tim wished that he could share in the man’s joy, saying “Alfred, I may be wanted by the cops.”

The old man suddenly became all-business, protecting his family was always the first priority. “Then we need to get you out of here.” They went back to the car and moved it to a hidden place near a construction site. This wing had been closed down since the Red Hood set it on fire, so they weren’t likely to be bothered.

Tim told him about everything he found, barely breathing between paragraphs and bites of pastry. He didn’t realize how hungry he was when everything wasn’t laced with toxin.

“Bruce will be crushed, Tommy always seemed like such a sweet boy. Why would he do something like this?” 

“I have no idea, but Jonathan Crane used to be his therapist so the man has to have at least a few screws loose.” 

Alfred thought about it for a moment, “If Tommy's still… I want you to take a look at something for me, I was going over the photographs of Master Richard's…"  _ corpse, body, cadaver  _ his brain supplied as he dug through a cardboard box of evidence. Afraid to say the word as if denying it would buy Dick a few more minutes on this Earth. He was holding a tiny plastic bag with a lock of dark hair. He rambled when he was scared and the words came out like a tangled ball of yarn. "At the school. Something didn't quite seem right so I ordered some tissue samples from the GCPD, as Batman, of course. I've certainly picked up a fair amount of forensic science, I can hardly watch those police dramas without laughing, but I'm not like the rest of you." 

He was so proud of his boys, so brilliant, brave, and  _ kind.  _ "You can look at a spot of mud and suddenly start booking a flight halfway around the world, while I'm still here thinking about what to do with the stain.” He smiled like it was funny but it didn’t go up to his eyes. The words  _ 'I'm still here'  _ should be his epitaph. 

Alfred couldn't save the world, but he could put a band-aid on every scraped knee. Bake cakes for every birthday, make tea and tell stories when the nights grew too long. He would always be there to cheer them on from the sideline and if he never did anything else right in his life, he would make sure they knew they were loved. The old man didn’t say anything as Tim held the sample up to a light, crushed hope cut so much deeper than grief. 

The hair was dark brown, almost black with warm undertones. It was a picture-perfect match of Dick’s walnut shade. 

Which was exactly  _ why _ it was wrong. “This isn't Dick's hair.” Tim said out loud. The real Nightwing had gray hair.

He was weirdly insecure about it, and joked that his premature gray was a side-effect from living with Bruce. Sadly a photograph of his dad said otherwise, it ran in the family and he hated it. It didn’t take long for a family full of detectives to figure out he dyed his hair. 

The sample was all natural. 

There’s no way Jason could’ve known, Tim took that baton and ran with it. “Barbara’s body was never found. Dr. Elliot’s was cremated and the ashes were scattered the moment his autopsy was finished, if there actually  _ was  _ one. Bruce could have scattered old newspapers for all we know. They couldn’t make an exact copy of Nightwing’s suit, but they could make something similar and melt it until it was unrecognizable.”  _ Things are going to get a lot worse before they get better, I need you to trust me a little longer Tim. It’s not as bad as it looks. I never killed anyone that didn’t deserve it.  _ “Shock. Distract. Divert. That's the pattern all along, keep us chasing fires so we can't take the time to actually see what's happening. That’s why he had to take out Barbara first and I bet you that whoever was in that suit, they were dead  _ long _ before they were electrocuted.”

“So there’s a chance they’re actually alive?” Alfred went to his phone to tell Bruce the joyous news, but the call dropped after the first ring. He never had that happen before and Tim asked what was wrong. “It's nothing, it's just that I don't seem to have a signal here. It must be all the concrete and metal.”

Tim immediately checked the militia phone, the signal was perfect. “Alfred, don't panic but I think we stumbled across their hideout. We’re in it.” Tim took off his bloodied shirt and told Alfred to test it against Tommy Elliot's DNA. The car had spare sets of clothes and gear hidden in the trunk. The first thing he did was cut off that  _ stupid  _ cast and throw it away. He took a fresh shirt and his gloves, clipping a telescoping staff onto his utility belt. The rest of his costume was left behind. No more lies, no masks, he had to do this as  _ Tim.  _ "I've got a plan. It's a gamble, but if I'm _ right _ , everyone goes home happy." Well, not  _ quite. _ Hush and Scarecrow are going to rot in prison for a long time, so everyone that  _ mattered  _ was going to be fine. "If I'm wrong…”  _ Jason will kill me. _ “I'm dead. Pure and simple. I miscalculated once before but I’m 80% sure I'm right." 

Alfred realized what he was planning, he was going to storm the gates alone. “I cannot let you go in there, not in your condition.”

“He knows how our armor works, if he had shot me an inch higher or lower he would have killed me. I saw Jason was at the school, I was tied up, drugged out of my mind, he still  _ chose _ not to hurt me.” He hates Dick, despises him with every insult out of his mouth, so why is he still alive? Why not pull a John Wilkes Booth and just kill Bruce at the theater? Unless there was something holding him back. “Give me a 30-minute head start, then call Bruce.”

Alfred didn’t want him to go, but he wanted everyone to come home. Even Jason. “I can give you fifteen and not a second more.”

Tim would have to make that work.


	11. Chapter 11

Tim walked out to the edge of the finished buildings, where crown molding didn't exist anymore. He would have to do this smart. It would only take one moment’s hesitation to earn him a stomach full of lead and building full of dead hostages. So no pressure, right?

The first thing he needed was a front door. There was a carport filled with a bunch of armored vehicles gussied up to look like generic vans and trucks. He crawled underneath one and attached a bit of plastic explosive next to the gas tank, letting the gasoline do most of the work. Move to a safe distance and detonate remotely.

The van went up into a ball of flame, the sound of the explosion echoed across the campus. As expected, nearby militia abandoned their posts to grab extinguishers. They had to run fast to keep it from spreading to the other vehicles and they couldn’t afford any outside attention. With all eyes on the fire, Tim knocked out a guard and slipped in through a window. On the way in, he nabbed the soldier’s headset and wired it to his pocket computer. Alarms were already going off across the building and the word on everyone’s lips was  _ Batman. _

Their communications went through a central hub, he could use the signal to track it back to the source. There were voices inside the server room as people scrambled for their battlestations. There was only one entrance and no windows. The air vents were too small for him to crawl through, but that didn’t mean they weren’t useful. A few gas canisters from his belt were shoved into the vent, letting the room fill with smoke and chloroform before kicking down the door. 

The soldiers moved sluggishly, drawing their guns and firing at where he used to be. A gas mask hid his identity while he took out the few that were still conscious. The smoke dissipated enough for him to use the computers and he chugged one of the energy drinks on the table while he worked. He remotely disabled what security systems he could and poured over security camera footage. He had to find his family. 

Barbara and Jim were playing Scrabble, arguing about a word over bowls of ice cream. They were in no danger. 

Another camera was covered by a piece of paper with the words NO PEEKING! in green marker. The frowning Jack-o-lantern doodled in the corner told him exactly whose room it was. The idea of the two of them still felt alien.

The third showed a hospital bed surrounded by machinery and it was hard to see the person behind the oxygen mask. Tim’s first thought was Nygma in recovery, but then he saw the thick restraints on his wrists and ankles. Numbers at the bottom of the screen displayed Dick’s heart rate, oxygen levels, fluid intake, and anything else they needed. He was prescribed enough medication to keep a horse catatonic and the low dose of fear toxin made sure his sleep was anything but restful _.  _ Tim couldn't do anything to help him from here.

Scrolling down, he eventually found a camera fixated on an empty chair in a dimly lit room. There were trays of metal tools in disarray, there was a puddle of red on the floor that wasn't ketchup. Jason was in one of the basement floors nearby, cutting open a bag of concrete mix and humming to himself. More blood was splattered on his clothes. The brunt of the security was on the hostages and Jason was practically the farthest point away.

Tim texted Alfred the family’s locations, Batman would go after them first while he took care of Jason. He couldn’t repel down with his chest injury but he could still ride the elevator. 

***

Jason was standing in front of the mirror as he made the last addition to his suit. The wires were all connected and there were only a few screws left to put in place. Everything about putting it together felt natural, like this was how it was supposed to be. The new vest hugged his chest and a feeling of contentment washed over him. No matter what happened, it was all going to be over soon. For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t going to hurt anymore.

Karlo was certainly right about one thing, he  _ did  _ need to blow off some steam. Just not in that way. 

A bucket of cold water shocked the Joker awake, leaving him sputtering with a splitting headache. He was tied to a chair in a room lit by a single bulb. The clown leaned back and looked at his captor, saying "You look awfully familiar, have we met?"

The cigarette between Jason’s lips tilted with his smile. "Oh, you probably don't remember lil' old me, but I do have something that may jog your memory." There was a table full of tools for torture; hammers, pilers, spider gags, and blades in a dozen types but Jason went straight to a box at the end. The smile fell off the clown’s face when he saw the crowbar. He knew what was coming.

The young man turned the tool over in his hands, running his thumb over the freshly sharpened edge one last time. This was going to be a thing of rapture. “How did it go again? Ah yes, ‘What hurts worse? Forehand or backhand?’ Don’t worry, we’ll have plenty of time to find out for sure.”

Hours later, Jason was taking a long drag of his cigarette and exhaling a plume of white smoke, not caring in the slightest what he looked like. He was splattered with blood and some dripped from his clothes and puddled onto the floor. Not a drop was Jason’s. There was a far-off look to those green eyes and he couldn’t stop smiling, not a drugged out grin, but the smile of a man that slayed his dragon. He felt incredible. 

It was the little moments like these that make it all worthwhile, reminding him why he was still in this world. Nothing else mattered.

The clown was still breathing, but only barely. 

Joker's body was a few teeth lighter, the yellowed chunks were scattered across the floor as his frame crumpled under breaks and fractures. Jason only did the bare minimum to make sure he’d live long enough to suffer. Anesthesia is for people and animals, but he certainly had a stapler and some duct tape they could spare. 

Not long after the Joker was shoved into a wooden box set into the floor. The lid was nailed shut and the whole thing was covered in a thick layer of concrete. Smoothing it out with a spatula until it blended perfectly with the room’s foundation. Jason sat down on the floor to bask in his work and pulled out another cigarette. As soon as it set, his crew would come in and put down flooring. 

And that’s how the Joker would die. Slowly, painfully suffocating with each panicked breath, clawing at his coffin lid until his fingers bled and split. There was no fanfare, no glorious showdown where he could become a martyr for everything that was wrong with the world. His death would be quiet and anonymous. Forgotten and sealed away in the floor of what would someday be a very lovely hospital storage room. No grave, no headstone, just a pile of cardboard boxes in a dusty room.

His comm was sitting over by the concrete mixer, the light was blinking but he didn’t care. It was probably some petty gang bullshit that Lou could take care of. He didn’t want to be disturbed right now. Not until he was certain the clown was dead. Sadly it was cut short when someone walked in. He groaned, so much for a quiet moment. 

Jason put the cigarette out on the floor next to him and got up. “Getting real tired of your shit, Karlo.” Despite what certain people believed, he did not have the patience of a saint.

“I’m not Karlo.” Said the teen standing in the doorway, a gas mask dropped to the floor. “I know it’s all an act Jason, you were faking their deaths since Tommy Elliot. You’re not the monster you pretend to be.”

“How the hell did you-?” He started as confusion, shock, and horror flitted across his face.  _ Don’t talk to me like you know me.  _ The person in front of him wasn’t Robin or the fake Tim. 

“World’s greatest detective, pleased to meet you.” He figured he had earned that title by now. 

Jason wasn’t amused. "More like 'world's greatest pain in my ass.' You don't  _ learn _ , do you?" He growled, drawing his gun but the teen didn't take the bait. Tim was staring down the barrel of the gun that started it all and didn't even flinch. He knew Jason wasn’t going to shoot. "I'm not here to fight you." His tone was calm, soothing like he was talking to a frightened animal. 

Jason sneered, "Too bad." A pistol-whip was blocked and a thin line of red ran down Tim’s arm. This wasn’t clay. 

Tim was moving purely defensively, letting his forearms take the brunt of his anger. The man had the skill and the speed, at any moment Jason could rip an arm away and go straight for the chest. One good punch would send a bone fragment into his heart and no amount of Wayne Enterprises super-tech could stop the bleeding. He would be dead in seconds. This right here wasn’t justice, or even revenge. It was just violence towards someone that wasn’t even fighting back. 

Instead, he kept deflecting each hit like they were just sparring. Still focused on Jason with an intensity that scared him. "C'mon, you son of a bitch! Hit me!” He screamed, it wasn't supposed to be like this. Tim wasn't mocking him, hating him, or even  _ afraid _ of him. There was less force behind each hit. Jason didn't understand. He had him dead to rights, could kill him a dozen times over, but why did it feel like he was losing? 

His anger was leaving him like smoke in a breeze, but he couldn't let that happen. In a last-ditch gambit, Jason charged. Picking the teen up and slamming his back against a wall, one hand pinned him there while his right drew a knife. There were so many options for pain; take an eye, slash his throat open, or just bury the blade into his chest. The razor-sharp edge was pressed against his throat but Jason couldn't make it move. Tim had called his bluff. 

Jason's breathing was measured, like each breath hurt. "Why won't you let me hate you?" He asked, his voice small and lost. He needed it, but Tim refused to feed his rage. Anger kept him warm when the world turned cold, soothed the hurt after each betrayal, it gave him focus, a  _ purpose _ . Without it, what was even left?

A bird lying dead on the sidewalk. Unwanted, discarded,  _ broken _ . He tried to paint his feathers a different color to pretend to be something someone might actually love. But it wasn't enough, it would never be  _ enough _ . Jason never intended to survive his fight with Bruce. He just wanted a way for the pain to finally stop. But for a brief moment he thought- he could  _ almost _ see a way out.

Maybe there was someone that didn't think his feathers were ugly, or that his song was stupid. A place where he could go and not worry about a knife between his ribs. Someone that needed him or at least was willing to pretend to. He was stupid like that. It was never real.

The knife fell from his hand. He was breaking apart.

He didn't know what was happening. Next thing he knew he was on the floor with tiny rocks under his knees. Everything was hurting but nobody raised a hand to hit him. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.” Tim said as he pulled him into his arms as Jason held onto him like a lifeline, the wall holding back years of trauma was breaking down. Tim had found this corpse, wiped away the maggots and still found something underneath worth keeping. Holding it close and promising that he was safe now. Jason sobbed until he had nothing left, exhausted like a machine that had been run on full blast for the past twenty years and was finally given permission to rest. Maybe he could start living again.

He held Tim's face in his hands, trying to understand who this person was. The runaway, the rich kid, or the replacement, but the truth wasn't that simple. He was all of them and none of the above. As their lips touched, Jason decided that he was the best of everything. “I’m officially tapping out. You won, so can we  _ please _ start over?" He asked between kisses, putting his heart on the line.

"Would you believe me if I said that I went to the Butterfly to find the Red Hood and meeting you was a happy accident? I went out on my own, defied orders because I… I said that I wanted to prove your innocence, but mostly I just wanted to spend time with you again." Tim offered his hand and introduced himself, "My name's Tim Drake, part-time detective, full-time nerd. Pleased to meet you.”

Jason had no trouble accepting that, saying "Jason Todd, anti-drug advocate and gun enthusiast." In true gentlemanly fashion, he kissed Tim's knuckles instead of shaking his hand. Good to know the man was still a massive dork. Jason snuggled up to him like he was gearing up for a nap with Tim as the pillow. Even now, there was never an ounce of pressure on his sternum. He asked what happens now.

Tim glanced around the room, considering something. “Well, you did surrender… Batman does have his trophies and you  _ would _ look pretty great next to the giant penny. We could even pin a little evidence tag to your shirt.” Alfred would dust him every now and again.

It was nice to hear the man's laughter again. His eyes were red as he wiped the last of the tears from his face. Tim offered a tissue from his belt. 

The suit pressed against him didn’t feel like it did before. Tim took a look down at the vest, his blood went cold when he realized what he was he was looking at. 

Jason was wearing a bomb.

###  He had a fascination with explosives ever since his death, joking to himself that the pit fused some shrapnel to his brain. When in reality it was a way to control what killed him. Tim's extensive skill at bomb defusal was purely practical, forced on him with the oath of 'Never Again'.

It was a monstrosity of a machine. There must be over a dozen redundant wires, back-up batteries, and blast caps all hidden under protective covers held in place by teeny-tiny screws. There was no timer on this one-Jason couldn’t stand the sound-just a switch under a flip-top cap. A green glove touched a panel carefully, not wanting to believe it was real. He had to ask, "Did you…? Did you do this because of me?" 

"No, this was planned from the beginning." He replied, putting Tim’s hand back down. The mission was always going to end with a corpse. His, Joker’s, or Bruce, or hopefully all three. "Don't worry, I'm not going to blow you up. You’re not fucked up like me." 

“That's not the point, Jay!” He raised his voice and Jason flinched, expecting the next sound to be the door slamming shut as Tim walked out of his life. Instead the teen went for the screwdriver and scissors in his belt. 

He tried to talk him out of it. "Tim, don't. I'm fine with this." He would say that he had a good run but that would be a blatant lie. "I need the pain to stop."

"Not like this, there has to be another way. We can get you help.” Tim promised as he got to work. The vest itself was some thick cut-resistant mesh that just dulled his scissors. A pocket laser was strong enough to cut through but he couldn’t do it without cutting the skin underneath. The zipper was soldered shut. This thing wasn’t even designed to  _ come off _ , let alone be defused. Cutting one wire would affect five different sections, he would have to disable it in pieces. The defusal was going to take a lot of time they didn't have. One wrong snip and they're both dead.

Tim imagined this was what the inside of the man's head was like. Messy, complicated, self-hate feeding itself from a dozen places. It was the product of a lifetime of holding on for dear life and saying ‘maybe tomorrow will be better.’ It wasn’t, but he had to find any excuse to kick that particular can down the road. Bad days turned to weeks, months, even years. Sure there were bright spots in between but they were matches being tossed into the ocean.

Jason’s idea of Hell wasn’t warm at all. It wasn’t wandering around a perpetual desert that scorched his shoulders and feet until every movement felt like broken glass, or even a bomb blast that was measured at almost 600 degrees fahrenheit. Hot enough to liquify fat and char the skin. It was freezing cold.

It was another winter living on the streets, stuffing papers into his shoes to keep from losing his toes. Standing outside in the snow because there was nowhere else to go. Families and happy couples walk past, smiling faces turned to disgust if he ever walked too close. He was always the outsider looking in. Always alone.

The other kids passed around a bottle of alcohol, knowing it could kill them but they didn’t care. It made them feel warm for a little while. It helped them sleep and if they didn’t wake up, it started looking like a perk rather than a danger. He held onto that rope until he wanted a drink too.

Tim’s voice brought him back to the little room, "I know it may not seem like it right now, but Bruce and Dick do love you. There wasn't a day where they didn't miss you." 

Jason scoffed, adding in his head  _ “-and there really is a Santa Claus.”  _ Tim caught the way he rolled his eyes. “Then how about me and Alfred? You think we don’t care about you?”

He didn’t have an answer for that, but his attention was suddenly drawn to his comm. The flashing light changed from yellow to red and the speed doubled. “Batman’s here.” He said but Tim didn’t move from his seat, and even pushed Jay back down when he tried to get up. Sitting on his lap to pin him to the floor.

He wasn’t above threatening to hog-tie him with his own grappling wire. “There’s no way I’m letting you get into a fight when you have a bomb on your chest,  _ you’re _ the most important thing right now.” Tim promised, disengaging the first payload. He wanted to comment on the nails mixed inside but he had a feeling he already knew the answer. Jason wanted to make sure he’d stay dead. He didn’t see what those words did to him.

Soft touches pulled Tim away from his work, easing the screwdriver out of his hand and setting it down. Tim asked what he was doing and was silenced with a kiss. "Jay, this isn't-" He started, it was hard to speak as strong arms wrapped around his waist. "This really isn't the time for this right now."

This feeling of being loved, this closeness, he missed it so much. Someone could see the worst parts of him and still choose to stay. He cradled the teen’s head as they kissed. His Tim was taking the effort and risk to do this, he needed to be rewarded for it. “I wouldn’t mind spending my last moments on my knees for you.” There was a crooked smile as he suggested Tim’s sex as his last meal. One last good memory before he found Batman and flipped the switch. Tim found nothing beautiful, or romantic, about this moment. 

He tugged Jason's hands away and the man couldn’t hide the hurt it caused. The look softened when Tim touched his cheek, saying "Let me save your life first. You can have all the kisses you want as soon as I get this off your chest.” Jason wasn’t fond of that idea but Tim didn’t leave him much room to argue. The man was still as stubborn as ever and in other news, water is wet.

“I’m going to hold you to that.” Jason gave in and for the first time, he started helping him disarm it.

***

The Gordons’ Scrabble game was interrupted by the sound of gunfire. Multiple assault rifles firing off in concentrated bursts as grown men were thrown around like ragdolls. Batman didn't see any point in being gentle with these people. They didn't deserve mercy. 

The electronic lock was ripped off the wall and he hot-wired it open. The door popped open with a hiss. He wasn't sure what horrors he expected to find inside but it wasn't a Jim Gordon squeezing in one last double word score before their rescue. 

"'Bout time you showed up." He was notably unimpressed by the whole thing. It wasn't the first time the old man had been kidnapped by a masked lunatic, but this was the first to give him steak and garlic mashed potatoes. 

Batman wasn’t even fazed as he replied, "I was held up in traffic." He picked up Barbara and carried her back to her wheelchair. She leaned in to whisper in his ear, "Jason Todd's the Red Hood, there's something wrong with him. He’s not well." He could only respond with "We know."

They asked if he had found Nightwing. "Not yet, you two need to get to safety. I've cleared a path to the elevator, take it to the top floor." The jet was waiting for them and they would have no trouble following the trail of unconscious goons he left behind. Bruce watched them leave and he turned to the sound of shambling steps as the elevator door slid closed.

It was Crane, or rather, what was left of him. 

His footsteps were slow, unsteady as the wall was the only thing keeping him upright. He was still dressed in the costume he died in. The noose still wrapped around his neck with the end freshly cut. “Batman, help me…  _ please…  _ Lazarus… changed us...” He pleaded, sick inside from experiencing something no mortal man should ever witness. He was frightened. There was no way he would know what was happening to his body. What was Jason even doing to these people?

Shaking hands reached out to his old enemy before Crane's stomach lurched, spilling poisoned blood from his mouth. He would have fallen over if Batman didn’t catch him. Bruce held him tightly by the arm, his other hand digging around in his utility belt for the right tool to make a full toxicology report. He was already making a list of what supplies he needed in case he needed an emergency transfusion.

And then he felt the pain, sharp and burning as the blade buried itself into the meat of his stomach. No common knife would’ve cut through his armor like that, this was a gift from Jason.

“After all these years, you’re still falling for the same old tricks.” Crane leaned in close, grinning with his lips and teeth stained red. Breath sickly sweet from corn syrup and food coloring. “Help me." He pleaded in a mocking tone as he pressed it in deeper. Warm blood leaking out onto his hand.  _ “Save me,  _ and you always come running. _ ”  _ The knife was torn out and red flooded down Bruce’s suit, the brief opening was enough to knock Scarecrow away with a punch to the jaw. 

His first priority was to stop the bleeding. A gadget was super heated until it glowed orange. 

Crane didn’t react to the hit, instead running his tongue over the back of his hand. Tasting the bat’s blood and staining the front of his mask. “Mr. Hood was right about you down to the letter. He said that your human collateral never mattered to you, that you could always find more bodies to throw on your altar but without your gallery of freaks- there  _ is _ no Dark Knight.”

Batman hissed in pain as he cauterized the wound, searing the exposed flesh before covering it with a medicated patch. 

There was the sound of gunfire coming from the roof. The Gordons had fulfilled their duty and were free to go as their leader promised. The shots were nothing more than a warning not to stay, but the sound was enough for the Bat to think that exit was not as safe as he thought. Crane shook his head like a disappointed parent. “I can’t say that you’re helping your case, Batman.” He saw a monster that would let them walk right up to the exit just to slit their throats on the finish line.

Bruce’s hands grabbed that noose and he tightened that for everything he’s worth. The madman’s demeanor quickly changed from smug superiority to panicked gasps as his face changed color. This one wasn’t a performance.

The shock of a bullet striking his gauntlet forced him to let go, the bullet still embedded in the armor. An electronic voice called out, "Let the Scarecrow go." It was the lieutenant, but this time he wasn’t alone. A troop of soldiers followed behind with a dozen guns trained on the Bat.

Batman saw the glint of dog tags around Crane’s neck as he composed himself. His death, however staged, had earned him a place in Jason’s legion of the dead. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to play with your food?” Lou scolded the doctor as he handed him his scythe. 

Lou turned to Batman, holding his hands up to show he wasn’t a threat. Now he was willing to talk to them. “I’m here to parley. We’re both relatively sane men-”  _ Bat costume notwithstanding,  _ he added in his head. “I know that you have something  _ we _ want and we have something  _ you  _ want. We can play nice and everybody goes home happy.” The lieutenant snapped his fingers and soldiers parted, revealing two men dragging Nightwing around like a dead animal. This was a hostage exchange.

His eldest son had been ripped from his hospital bed, with wires and cords still hanging off of him. Still unconscious, he couldn’t even stand of his own accord. Only the faint rise and fall of his chest and the occasional murmur proved he wasn’t a corpse. Bruce didn’t think he even knew where he was right now, he certainly didn’t notice the man pointing a gun to his head. 

The Red Hood wasn’t answering his comms, his systems were all dark and only people that knew why were knocked out in the server room. As far as the soldiers were concerned, Batman might as well be walking around the building with blood on his hands. Lou was going to make this nice and simple, let the Red Hood go or else Nightwing wasn’t going to be so pretty anymore.

Batman told him the truth. He had no idea where the Red Hood was or what happened to him, for all he knew the man could have bolted. They didn’t like that answer. Boss would never leave them to rot, not in a million years. Lou didn’t buy it for a second and grabbed Nightwing by the hair, shocking him with a few thousand volts. 

Bruce looked away but he couldn’t block out the sound of his scream. There wasn't an opening, they would've killed them both if he reached for his belt.  _ I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive me someday. _

Nightwing was awake now, bleary-eyed and glancing around to figure out what was going on before another pull on his hair made him stop. Lou frowned, Batman still wasn’t talking. He was tempted to keep going until he caved or Nightwing's eyeballs popped, but there was no point. The great Batman wasn't phased by the suffering of others, even his brothers-in-arms. 

He couldn’t stomach fake heroes and Nightwing wasn’t any different. They never bled, they never got their hands dirty, why should they care about anything other than the next groupie? Nobody actually gave a  _ damn _ about anything, they either had a god complex or it was a sham to sell action figures. But he had a little somethin’ to wipe that smile off. “So no chance of doing this peacefully, huh? Kill him.”

Batman threw a smoke bomb down the instant the room erupted in gunfire, making a mad dash for his son. The resistance of his cape was pushed to its limit as blue lightning danced across it, harmlessly dissipating what would have been a killing blow. The fillings of his teeth buzzed like angry hornets.

A scythe cut through the smoke, it’s wide arc narrowly grazing his suit. The blade was sharpened to a razor’s edge and tore a line from his hip up to his ribs. He would not give up his prey that easily, Batman needed to put him down. Batman grabbed the handle and  _ yanked,  _ sending Crane off balance. He followed up with a few hits and ended it with snapping the man’s arm. 

He grabbed Nightwing and grappled up through an access panel in the ceiling that led back near the elevator shaft. There was just enough of a gap between the floors to make a hiding space. It was cramped and dusty, but they were safe for a moment. 

He eased Dick into a sitting position, removing the rest of the wires and the leftover chains around his ankles. His vision was swimming and his heart rate was too low, he was poisoned. The track marks of a needle showed that they pumped him full of poison before they even pulled him from his bed. They never intended to let him go, the only choice was how quickly he’d die. 

If he had the ability, Dick would have made a joke about the sheer number of spiders hanging around him like he was some sort of awful Disney princess. Not that Bruce would have found Cinderella’s rats to be an improvement, citing some awful statistic on disease and ruining the joke. He did that a lot. 

Bruce was never good at humor, but was good at making antidotes. He liked to think he was there for them where it counted. 

Dick didn’t think he was going to get out of this alive. 

In his nightmare, he was back at the manor and buried up to his neck in an argument. They were screaming at each other. Bruce didn’t understand what he was doing bringing another child into this. 

It wasn’t the same when Dick was a kid. He grew up as a circus acrobat, he was on tightropes the moment he learned how to walk. Lions and elephants were family pets, his aunt Harriet could breathe fire, and death-defying stunts were just part of daily life. He wasn’t normal, but Jason was just a  _ kid _ .

It was so easy to forget how young he actually was when he had to grow up so damn fast. In a week, he had gone from living in abandoned buildings and nicking wallets just to get food in his stomach to suddenly having everything. Enrolled in the best school in the city, his own room, a bike, a TV with all the video games he could want. In exchange, all he had to do was get his hands dirty with Batman.

It wasn’t what Bruce was thinking at all, making him Robin was supposed to be an outlet for his anger. A way to turn his trauma into something productive. Give him focus. Dick pointed out that this looked an awful lot like how gangs recruited kids. 

Jason had been promised a fresh start, a new life, a loving family with a big brother he could look up to. He got most of those things. 

It was a shame no one told Dick until he found some punk running around Gotham in his old uniform, calling himself the ‘New and improved Robin’. He was a kid excitedly showing off, not a snot-nosed thief like he thought. 

“You know that bringing him here is nothing but a mistake.” 

Jason walked in, trying to hide how much that rejection really hurt. 

Dick tried to do damage control but that wall of ice was already up. “Look. You don’t want to talk to me, I don’t want to talk to you, so why pretend?” He was just one more two-faced adult that was all smiles before stabbing him in the back.

A hand reached out to him, a child in familiar colors struggling, gasping,  _ dying  _ for his help and Nightwing pushed him off. 

Dick never asked for this, the child was _ not  _ his burden. He had his own life filled with too many problems of his own, he didn't have the time to be roped into Bruce's charity case. No one blamed him for what happened to Jason. The Titans needed a leader and it wasn’t like Deathstroke was going to take a night off just because Dick had to babysit. There was no way he could have known how bad things had gotten. No one blamed him, except himself.

And now everyone else was paying that price. 

Bruce and Barbara were talking, but this wasn’t a memory. His heart rate was back to normal and the danger had passed. “Wuh happened? Where’s Tim?” He asked, his head was still at the school. Bruce filled him in on what happened since his capture, Alfred even confirmed that the Gordons got out of the building safely. He was still groggy and weak, but no longer on death’s door. Bruce would radio the jet to collect him too but Nightwing refused. If he could stand, he could still fight and he had to see this to the end, one way or another. They had to find Jason and Tim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are reaching the end of our little tale, there are only one or two chapters left now.


	12. Chapter 12

The building was on high alert. Sirens were blaring, people were shouting coded orders over the radio while Edward Nygma was having a pleasant day. Today’s tea had been assam with orange peel and his suitcase was already packed in preparation for the Dead Men’s inevitable transition to a scorched earth retreat. Not much left to do now but work on his crossword puzzle, occasionally twirling a carved wooden pen around his fingers.

At first glance, Batman thought the man at the desk was a decoy, but there was no way Karlo would miss the mark that badly. Nygma was wearing tan slacks and suspenders, a dress shirt patterned with peacock feathers was neatly pressed and rolled up at the sleeves. Shoes polished and hair combed, the man hasn’t looked that healthy since Dick was a boy. 

The last time they fought the police dragged him away half-mad and gibbering the same riddles he had used before. The man hadn’t showered in weeks and his clothes were splattered with oil stains. After that, Nygma fell off the radar for so long he thought that man had finally given up his petty feud. No such luck apparently.

The Riddler was still the weak link in any criminal operation. His mental illness was far too easily exploitable; get him worked up until he started self-sabotaging and then Batman could pick out whatever information he needed from the man’s shattered psyche. He had done it a thousand times before.

Real-life obsessive-compulsion was so much worse than the neat freak on TV. It was being trapped like a train on a track, looped around and around as he completed the same task over a dozen times. He could not sleep, he could not eat, until some illogical checklist in his brain was satisfied. More than once Batman had found him organizing a bookshelf while he could smell smoke coming from the next room. A dark shadow blocked out his light and stole his pen, snapping the poor thing in half. 

Instead of the usual jolt of panic or distress, Edward was mildly irritated. There was no ‘Hello’, no ‘How do you do, my old arch-nemesis? You look fantastic and utterly brilliant.' Instead the Bat had gone directly to breaking his beloved stationary. Breaking his toys was one of the few things that broke him out of his rituals, another was pain. The Bat probably figured he should be grateful he didn't start with his fingers.

"I wasn't even  _ in _ a ritual. That was just unnecessary.” Edward huffed. The man's spine was a steel rod, Crane's stab wound still giving him grief and he was in no mood for games. Batman was  _ adorable _ when he thought he was the one in control.

Edward shot a smile in Nightwing's direction, the former Robin had pulled up a chair and had his hands folded on Nygma’s desk. The gesture was pleasant and familiar, it also did a good job on hiding the fact that Nightwing could barely stand on his own. The rest of the family was so much more palatable than their mentor. "Congratulations on not dying, quite the accomplishment given the state of your health. And do tell Ms. Gordon to please read an almanac. If she had factorted the height of the building, the sunset in her window would have been 6:14pm but she saw it at 6:17pm due to a three-minute delay in the video feed. I  _ tried _ to tell her but she was too occupied with telling you people where she  _ thought she was _ .” Edward started talking about playing some board game with her and how he used the numbers sixteen and nineteen to represent the ‘Tower and Sun arcana respectively’ before Batman reached across the desk and broke another pen.

The sound of splintering wood was like a baseball bat to the brain.  _ That  _ was the pain Bruce was looking for.

It threw Edward back into memories of darker days he never wanted to see again. The insults, the violence, the bitter taste of medication that was never intended to _help_. He would never know how many times he had been brutalized at the hands of a bat or so-called medical professionals, but he did know that he would not suffer that fate again. “I have worked too long and too hard just to let you bully me back into a straightjacket! You don't know where the Red Hood is, so either you will respect my wishes or you will leave, but I will not assist you any longer.” He was a _person,_ not a toy to be used and thrown away. 

The conversation was now over and Edward turned back to his puzzle, pointedly pondering about a six-letter word for an overgrown rodent that feeds off of self-righteous snorts and broken kneecaps. His name was a misnomer anyway. Batman was  _ not  _ a flying mammal as his cape merely allowed him to glide, therefore he was actually a type of squirrel.

Nightwing winced in sympathy and pulled Squirrelman aside, saying “You didn’t need to do that, he was cooperating.” He gestured to the blinking device strapped to the man’s ankle, the redhead was just as much a prisoner here as anyone else and even put his life on the line to help them.

“He was rambling. We don’t have the time.” Nygma was in love with the sound of his own voice, he would talk for weeks if they let him.

“We have the time to be decent people, that was just cruel.” Nightwing folded his arms and stared at him until Bruce picked the usable half of the pen off the floor and set it back on the desk. There was a curious tilt as Edward glanced up, acknowledging that this was the closest he would ever get to admission of guilt. “They brought me on as a consultant, in exchange for a cushy retirement package of course. Or I could be lying and have been trying to wash myself around this stupid thing for weeks with the Dead Men tracking my every step just to build up enough plausible deniability in case things went south. Occam’s razor be damned.” He explained and the deep marks on his ankle confirmed the story. It was mostly true.

Bruce even cleaned the device with a cotton swab, finding residue from sweat and soap in the edges. He wasn’t impressed. “Like you couldn’t figure out a way to get that off?”

“ _ Of course _ I can, but do I  _ really _ have to explain why I don’t want to piss off the man with the private army and the cure for my brain tumor?” He rolled his eyes, speaking to that neanderthal was enough to make anyone turn to crime. Perhaps someday he could figure out the mystery of how his family resisted the urge to push him off a ledge by now. 

Edward continued, "It was a good plan; convince Batman that his friends and family have been brutally murdered, push him to the point where he commits murder, everyone jumps out the bushes yelling ‘Suprise!’ with everyone hopefully learning an important lesson about desperation and loss. Perhaps you’d even get a glimpse at what life is like on our side of the fence, but sadly that depended on you doing  _ something _ other than twiddle your bat-thumbs while Robin solves the case for you.” Jason employed the three fakest people in Gotham to help set this up; Tommy Elliot, Jonathan Crane, and Edward Nygma. The third had been referred to as 'queer as a three-dollar bill' in both senses of the word. He had this look of false innocence, the faint tilt to his lips when he knew someone’s terrible secret. “It’s so curious. Why does the Red Hood have this fixation on dead loved ones not actually being dead, imprisoned in some hellish place while their murderer goes free, all the while they hold out for a rescue that will never come?” 

Batman frowned at him, refusing to comment on what he just said. “You’ve tried to go straight before and were back in Arkham in a month, what makes this time different?” The man was a narcissistic obsessive-compulsive with delusions of grandeur, he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to. Not that he ever did.

“You’d be surprised what you can accomplish when you don't have a massive brain tumor and a crippling mental illness.” Sometimes he wondered if Batman ever got tired of it, the forced macho-posturing, constantly looking over your shoulder, the labyrinth of lies we choose to use instead of having a simple honest conversation. Lazarus showed him how this merry-go-round of ours ends and it wasn’t pretty. 

Edward put a small device on the table, he had activated the panic button when the second pen was snapped. Everyone in the building knew where they were and there were the sounds of hurried footsteps outside the door. He was stalling while the other got ready for round two. While they were making great strides with his compulsions, his vindictiveness was still a work-in-progress. “The lovebirds are in the basement, third door to the right and I’ll even give you a riddle for old time’s sake;  _ Bruce Wayne wears me to the party and never looks better, but forget one letter and this vest will make more than your hood redder.”  _

Edward sprayed something on Nightwing’s chestplate. It wasn’t acid, just a splatter of chunky paint that matched the blue of his symbol and he realized it was actually  _ colored clay. “ _ Red Hood told you everything from the tape with Karlo, there are only three people actually on his hit list. If you’ll pardon my vulgarity, I wouldn’t piss on Batman  _ or _ the Joker if either were on fire.”

A battering ram took out the door and Batman picked the man up by the collar, growling “Who’s side are you on!?”

He was grinning, “Oo, that’s an easy one. I’m on whatever side gives the best ending to the people I like best. Isn’t that right, Karlo?” Edward glanced over to Nightwing, winking at him to play along.

Nightwing was still hopped up on tranquilizers and would need at least another 24 hours before he’s vaguely combat-ready. He shouldn't even be in costume right now. Dick didn’t like the idea of sitting by while a group of soldiers dragged Batman away for his execution, but he didn’t have a choice. At best, he would only get in the way.

The fight broke out the moment he stepped foot in the hallway. 

Bruce had seen a zombie movie exactly  _ once  _ and he hated every second of it, from the poor sanitary practices to how hair spray was the most plentiful commodity in the apocalypse. But fighting these people, he wished he paid more attention to the tactics for dealing with the undead. 

Broken bones were reset with a flexible automatic brace, batarangs were ripped out and thrown back before a comrade slapped a patch over the wound. It was like they saw excruciating pain as nothing more than a character flaw that could be dealt with. And like their movie counterparts, they came back up no matter how many times they were knocked down. Each one chose death before bringing dishonor to the banner of of the Red Hood. He was starting to doubt they could even feel anything and would anything less than lethal force stop them? 

They never fought alone. A group would engage him in hand-to-hand combat, drawing his attention while a sniper lined up the shot. 

Meanwhile Edward poured two more cups of tea, setting the third one out for Scarecrow. 

The doctor was still in full costume, walking in with a brace holding the shattered bones of his arm together. His signature scythe carried low and threatening at his side.

Nightwing leaned back in his chair, pretending to be bored and focused on some dirt on his glove. All the while sweat pricked the back of his neck. Edward’s word was good enough for the soldiers, but Scarecrow had been fighting them since the beginning. He was not so easily swayed. 

Crane downed his tea in a few gulps, while outside the room they could hear the staccato of machine gun fire mixed with Batman’s version of swing dancing. He barely moved his head when he spoke, irritated that Karlo had the gall to even be in this room. The man left his trail of filth and disease everywhere he went. “You shouldn’t have brought Batman here, what if something had happened?” He fumed, but Edward stood up and drew his attention away with a touch to his arm.

He took full blame. “I asked him to, I’m afraid I couldn’t resist rubbing Batman’s nose in it at least a little. You know I am but a prisoner to my puzzles,  _ chained  _ to my very conundrums. And you’re a Crane, not a mother hen, don’t you have people to maim?” Scarecrow’s eyes narrowed at him, with that steely look that predated someone being stabbed with a fork. 

He was laying it on way too thick. Dick had never known Scarecrow to suffer fools gladly and would never allow anyone to tease him like that. Edward wasn’t afraid of the convicted murderer in the slightest, a perfect example that being a genius doesn’t mean you’re not an  _ idiot. _

Crane moved and Nightwing dove in to stop him. 

Instead of ripping the man in half with his scythe, Crane grabbed a ruler and gave Nygma a hard swat across the ass. There was a yelp of pain and he tossed it back on the desk, the piece of plastic clattering over the surface. “You deserved that. Put yourself in harm’s way again and I’m taking you over my knee.” He said in a voice Dick had never heard him use before.

Suddenly he realized that for the first time in all these years, he was looking at  _ Jonathan  _ instead of  _ Scarecrow. _

Nygma groaned and rubbed the sore spot, he could already feel a welt forming. “Ah, promises, promises.”

There was a ‘harrumph’ and Crane went back to Karlo, thinking that perhaps there was a spine somewhere in all that mush. “And here I thought you’d turn tail the minute Batman showed up. I may have misjudged you.” He tapped the tip of the scythe against the symbol on Nightwing’s chest and the blade came back wet with blue clay. He didn’t know that the real Karlo jumped ship after a few too many of Jason’s  _ cold shoulders.  _ Edward’s white lie saved his life and with that, Crane was content to join the battle outside.

“He could have killed you.” Nightwing whispered, genuinely concerned for the man’s safety but Edward only laughed. The pair has been living together since the second Robin was in shorts. If Jonathan was going to kill him, he was certainly taking his time. “Oh, I can tell when he’s being serious or just being Scarecrow.”

Dick thought that ‘just being Scarecrow’ was an utterly bizarre turn of phrase.  _ Don’t mind Jonathan Crane, he’s only ironically sacrificing a chicken to the dark gods of despair. He’s actually a very sweet boy and bakes pie on the weekends. _

Edward poured himself another cup, the porcelain was painted with cherry blossoms. “Batman’s the only one I can’t stand. I have nothing against you or the rest of the family. As much as I dislike it when you thwart my plans, I acknowledge that superheroes are an important part of Gotham’s ecosystem. Checks and balances and all that.” The Riddler drowned in the Lazarus pit and Edward had no intention of ever bringing him back.

There was a  _ cracka-boom _ as a massive electrical discharge was let go. The building’s lights flickered and dimmed as secondary power was switched on. A few beeps later and the hallway’s sprinkler system was activated. That was a smart move on Batman’s part. Now Lou couldn’t use his gauntlets without killing everyone else in the hall. Water would also wash any fear gas out of the air. 

Suddenly there was a wail of a gatling gun so loud you almost taste it and then, there was silence. 

If Batman won, there would be no way for the Dead Men to turn the tide without Jason’s leadership. They would have to abandon ship, regroup, and live to fight another day. Batman and Nightwing would move on, hopefully finding the wayward Robin before he became a splatter on a wall. If Batman was dead, it would only be a matter of time before ‘Karlo’ was discovered with Nightwing would soon join his mentor in an unmarked grave. Either way, Edward’s tenure was over.

The door opened and the winner took a few steps inside before collapsing on the floor. The die had been cast.

Edward grabbed an orange suture kit and got to work, Nightwing held Bruce’s head up to keep his airway clear. The man’s cape had been cut off and there were signs where its circuitry was melted onto his back. The meat of his shoulder was torn open from a scythe nearly ripping the arm out of the socket. He was riddled with bullets. “...Why...?” He asked as his old enemy started treating his wounds. 

Nygma had been bored in a hospital, so it only made sense to learn medicine. Now he was a fully-fledged surgeon, anesthesiologist, and cardiologist. It was just like anything else. Know what you’re doing, pay attention, don’t burn the house down. Easy. They didn’t ask how Edward knew his blood type or why he kept all the equipment for surgery in a secret compartment under his bed. 

Since he discovered the man’s identity, he saw Batman for what he really was. Not this shambling horror that came on black wings to torment him, beating him into the ground every time he tried to stand up for himself. ‘Why don’t you just give up crime?’ He’d ask, like it was so easy. Like he wasn’t to blame for driving a white-collar criminal into having a full psychotic breakdown. Riddler was created when his fear and illness took over everything else. 

And then Edward was shoved into a little padded cell, looking down at the blood on his hands and when the mental fog cleared, he realized what he had done. Before he only blackmailed some terrible people into being less terrible and less rich, hacked some computers to get some tickets to a show but he never, _ever,_ wanted to hurt anyone. It was done in self-defense, he just wanted Batman to leave him alone. 

But it was too late, he made a mistake he would regret for the rest of his life and Batman painted a giant target on his chest. He had enemies, powerful enemies that would take back their ill-gotten wealth from his hide if not his corpse. Batman had killed him with an arrest just as surely as putting a bullet in his head. Edward had to keep his mask firmly on to survive, not that it was much of a choice when the other options were the bullet or the noose.

“I like your sons more than I hate you. Besides, a day will come when you look back at this moment and realize that letting you live isn’t mercy.” There is no worse punishment to Bruce than living a long life. A sad little man working away in his cave until he realizes it is Thanksgiving day and no one has invited him to dinner. Alfred eventually succumbed to old age while the rest of the family simply moved on with their lives. They were sick of the lies, the secrets, and Bruce kept them pushing away until there was no one left to try.

The world’s (former) greatest detective would discover two horrible truths that everyone else knew; the first was that he was not strong enough to change his ways. The second was that they were better off without him anyway.

The last of the bullets were removed, the wounds closed and stitched, another empty blood bag was tossed in the trash. He may have been slightly heavy-handed when he cauterized wounds. “Nurse Nightwing, I am sad to say the operation was a success. Batman will live.” Dr. Nygma prescribed strict bed rest, morphine, and absolutely no rope-swinging unless he wanted his arm to pop off like a Lego brick. “Now get to the basement, you have to stop history from repeating itself.” 

Nightwing helped Bruce up to his feet as Edward grabbed his suitcase. The hero stopped him on the way out, saying “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, the most dangerous pieces are still left on the board.” There was still the bomb, the box under the concrete, and Batman. He could only hope they won the couple enough time to get rid of the first two. He let them leave before making his exit.

The hallway was a scene of carnage. Bodies littered the floor as a groaning mass of cracked bones and lacerations. A few soldiers hung from grappling wires, tied up like food for a giant spider. Bullet casings sat in a pool of water. A drum of fear gas was split open and empty. 

Scarecrow was somewhere in the pile, lying limp like a doll with his stuffing was thrown every which-way. A batarang was pierced straight through Crane’s palm and stuck out the other side. He had been crawling on his stomach, desperately trying to grab something before being overtaken by his wounds.

Edward looked over to see the splintered remains of his scythe just out of reach. “Oh,  _ Jonathan _ ...” He whispered as he wrapped up the bloodied blade in a cloth, a chunk of wood still stuck to it. Batman could only see it as a weapon, just another thing he needed to break. To Jonathan, it was no different than watching a wedding ring smashed to pieces. Edward had made it years ago, hand-carved, lacquered, and perfectly measured for his height. Even if they couldn’t say the words, they knew what it meant. 

The grumpy old man was sentimental to the last.

Edward scooped him up in his arms and carried him over his shoulder. Jonathan stirred, driven by something that had long since evolved past physical agony. “-s not dead, the Bat still lives. Mr. Hood is here somewhere, I know it.” He started squirming, trying to worm his way out of the man’s grasp but only making his injuries worse.

“This place is falling apart, the battle is over. It’s time to go home.” Their quaint little cottage was waiting for them. Edward tried to explain that there was nothing he could do at this point except prolong the violence, but Jonathan wouldn’t give. Perhaps he had spent too much time around the Dead Men but maybe there was something to the idea of ‘no man left behind.’ 

Their friend was in trouble, and it seemed wrong to deny a man his rare moment of compassion. As futile as it may be. Edward set him down and hoped he would come back in one piece.

Jonathan took a small tin canister from his belt and soaked his mask filters with the liquid. A few deep breaths and he was able to walk on his own two feet. In minutes Scarecrow was stitched up as good as new. 

It was a useful lie to his body with chemicals. In reality, it was no different from a car crash victim taking a line of coke instead of going to the emergency room. A psychoactive stimulant that turned off pain and fatigue, and permanent muscle damage. The high would last as long as he needed it to. 

The batarang was pulled out his hand and he bandaged the wound with the torn edge of his coat. “I do not believe the worst has happened to our friend, I cannot abandon him in his hour of need. There is a car waiting for you outside, take it and I will meet you at the rendezvous point as soon as I can.” He grabbed Edward's arm, pulling him close to press their foreheads together. He didn’t have much time left to be coherent. One of the lenses of his mask was cracked. “I need you to promise you won’t come after me. No matter what happens, you can’t get involved." 

Edward shook his head, saying “I can at least do something-” 

“No. You will not.” 

There wasn’t much that bothered the Master of Fear, but the idea of Edward returning to Arkham frightened him to the core. The Riddler would rise again more powerful than ever before, but now there would be nothing left behind the mask except madness and despair.

Maybe Mr. Hood's mind was strong enough to survive such an ordeal, but maybe he wasn't. All that Crane knew for certain was that the Bat had to be stopped at any cost and his green conscience needed to turn a blind eye. 

***

The building had been built from the basement up, with most of the subterranean floors left untouched by the militia. Batman walked ahead, he could tune out his injuries while Nightwing hobbled along. Bruce offered him his shoulder and Dick refused, the man was in worse shape than he was.

They turned a corner and saw Jason lying on the floor with Tim sitting on his lap. The teen held a flashlight in his mouth and unscrewed a metal cover attached to Jason’s chest before he added it to the growing pile of parts next to them. Neither were wearing masks. Jason glanced over to them and gave a small wave. “Uh, howdy?”

Dick was deeply confused, he was expecting a far more violent welcome than that. “Oh-kay, I’ll bite. Did I miss something while I was out?” He asked and Bruce was the one that replied, obviously Batman knew exactly what was happening at any given moment. 

“Tim won. He took out the Red Hood without throwing a single punch.” Bruce grabbed Tim by the back of the shirt, picking him up and setting him down on the floor. The teen yelled in protest but the Red Hood was his problem to deal with, not Tim’s.

Tim turned defensive, shouting at him not to hurt Jason. “He’s not a  _ puppy _ , Tim. He needs professional help,  _ doctors, _ help we’re not qualified to provide.” If they had an hour to spare, he could read off the extensive list of the man’s crimes including murder, conspiracy to commit murder, kidnapping, arson. The list went on and Jason didn’t even have the virtue of insanity to fall back on, he knew exactly what he was doing. 

Jason got up while the pair argued, and that’s when Dick noticed the vest. “That can’t be a...” He started and Jason’s expression changed, darkly smug as he put his hands on his hips. Showing off the two remaining charges over his stomach. Most if it was disabled, but it had enough bang left to clear the room. He never did anything halfway. “Don’t act dumb, you know  _ exactly _ what this is.” 

Dick's eyes narrowed in confusion, he didn't know what he was being accused of but Jason remembered it as clear as day. “Do you remember what you called me when you found out what I was?” He denied it again, before there was an awful realization of what he was talking about. One of the worst things he had ever done was coming back to roost. 

Jason shoved him back with both hands on his chest, screaming "Say it! Say what you said when I became Robin!" The sudden uptick in volume caught everyone's attention, his anger was returning full-force. Tim had a feeling putting them in a room together would be rough, but he didn’t think it would go south so quickly. 

Dick looked miserable as he spoke, "I... I said that ‘you were a time bomb looking for a place to go off.’ Jason, that's not what I meant. I-"

"Shut up! Don't pretend, even for a  _ second _ , that you understand!"

He could take the blame for all of it, but he wouldn’t become Jason’s emotional punching bag. "Fine! Bruce  _ never _ should have trained you, turning you into a soldier was one of the worst things that could have happened to you. You’ve been fighting your whole life, you needed a  _ family _ , to learn how to be a kid again. Not how to get better at beating people up. 

Jason went silent at that, like Dick was the one to talk about  _ family _ . “Yeah, and how well did  _ that _ turn out?” He had a bitter smile as he turned his wrath to a man he used to call ‘Dad’ “And of course you’re here. It’s only been, what? A couple hours since I grabbed the clown and of - _ fucking-  _ course _ ,  _ you  _ finally _ come running to the rescue. Not for Barbara, not Dick, Tim, or even Jim. Fucking  _ Joker. _ ” Each word was venom.

Bruce was visibly stunned, saying “I didn’t even know you went after the Joker.”

Jason huffed and folded his arms across his chest, not believing him in the slightest. 

“I’m serious, you have the Joker here? Where?” There was no cell strong enough to hold that madman, he couldn’t stand the idea of him being loose again. 

Jason’s face went blank, staring at him in bored frustration in complete silence. As if he could will him to be crushed under the weight of a black hole as punishment for asking the stupidest question in his entire life. “If you think I’m going to help you- _ at all _ -when it comes to that death-worshipping freak, you need to trade in your cape for a straightjacket. Who cares how many people he’s hurt, the graveyards he’s filled, because you’ll  _ always _ have the moral high ground? Why in the world would  _ you _ feel even slightly responsible when you keep saving his life just so he can take more? I mean, it’s not  _ your _ hands around someone’s neck. I’m sure that’s such a great comfort to the families left behind.” 

“What you’re doing isn’t justice, it’s  _ murder _ . You’ve become a serial killer.”

Jason pretended to be shocked, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead like a fainting damsel. “Oh no, how will I _ ever _ sleep at night knowing that a bunch of scumbags and pimps will never hurt anyone again?” His tone was mockingly sweet.

“Jason-” Bruce warned him, but it only egged him on.

“No more drugged children in trucks being sold to psychopaths. No more friendly neighborhood heroin man from down the street who beats his girlfriend like a rug-”

“Stop it!” Bruce shouted like a thundercrack, a voice that made lesser men shrink back in fear. But his second son wasn’t afraid, instead the smile on his face dropped to a look of pure disappointment. 

He tapped the yellow symbol on the man’s chest. Once upon a time he believed the bat stood for something great, something bigger than themselves. “I sleep like the dead, Bruce.” Jason used to drink that Kool-Aid and ask for seconds, but he found it was nothing but empty promises. “That’s the big difference between you and me, I will gladly take my spot in hell if it means no one else has to suffer like this.”

“Who are you to take that choice away from them? The day we start playing judge, jury, and executioner is the day we become dictators. We can stop them, but that's up for the courts to decide.”

“If the legal system worked, none of us would be here. Wasn't that the whole reason you started dressing up as a bat in the first place?”

“Jason... _ please... _ ” Tim pleaded, and Jason’s anger cooled for only a moment. ‘You don’t have to fight anymore.’ He wanted to say, but Jason’s wounds were so much deeper than where a kiss could touch. So Dick and Tim watched, not sure if they should stop it or let them finish. Was this catharsis, or was it just another spoonful of trauma on two men that had already been through too much?

“Do you think I don't  _ want _ to kill the Joker? That I haven't fantasized about killing him in explicit detail, how I would torture him as punishment for everything he's done? The truth is; I can't.” Bruce explained, “The minute I cross that line, every bit of evidence I have ever touched becomes worthless. Criminals I put away go free, everyone that I ever worked with would be questioned as an accomplice.” Jim Gordon’s life would be ruined even if someone didn’t use that as an excuse to put him behind bars. JLA would have to publicly denounce him or risk the public turning on them. And the first kill made the second one so much easier. “I can't ask my family, my friends, to hunt me down like a rabid dog." 

Jason shakes his head, saying "You're the same you've always been, using pretty words to soothe your own conscience. I think you’re just pissed because I’m a better Batman than you."

Batman lost it and punched him straight in the mouth. How could his son be so selfish as not see what he was doing? He sunk into a fighting stance, "This is what you came back for isn't it? Maybe now I can beat some sense into that thick skull of yours."

Jason wiped his split lip with the back of his hand, his chin stained red. He was grinning. There was a strange sense of elation seeing Bruce getting right down in the mud with the people he looked down on. “Of course it is.” All the roads in the world kept leading back to this moment, this fight, and it was time to grab it by the throat. There were no tricks, no dancing around, just a good old-fashioned bare-knuckle grudge match.

There was no poetism or elegance to their fight, it was a beating until one stopped getting up. Another bruise, another hit, another cut. Batman broke some of his few ribs with a swing of a steel pipe before Jason knocked him down. Grinding his boot into the man’s shoulder wound as added bonus. As the stitches tore and bled, it was impossible to tell they once loved each other. “It’s over old man, give up and I might let you live.”

“I’m not leaving the city to someone like you.” Batman threw Jason off and he landed in a swath of wet concrete, but his fall was broken by something solid. He didn’t notice the box he had just uncovered, partially dried concrete turned into a crust that split at the slightest touch. 

Bruce noticed the dried blood on his shirt and the line of it from something being dragged from an adjacent door. Fresh concrete and a wooden crate that was the perfect size to hold an adult body. Jason did something horrible. 

Jason got back up, scraping off globs of gray sludge so he could dive back into the fight. He dove for Bruce’s throat but the man knocked him aside. He had to know. 

A batarang was jammed underneath the lid and used it as levage, the wood groaning in protest as it was pried loose. The nails held on for dear life. There was just enough of a gap for him to pull it open with his hands, snapping the plywood sheet in half. Inside was the body of Joker, or rather, what was left of it. 

Jason’s brutality left him nearly unrecognizable, save for white face paint and green hair. He couldn’t tell where blood started and lipstick ended in the wet pulp he called a mouth. Wounds were stitched shut with an office stapler, a bullet wound in his leg was stuffed with a used kleenex and duct taped over. Bruce picked up the body, appalled by what he was looking at. He never thought Jason would have gone this far. Then again, he didn’t think Jason was capable of a lot of horrors he’s seen lately. 

A gun was pressed to the man’s head just behind his ear. There was no guilt, no remorse about what he’d done. It was nothing the clown didn’t deserve. “Put it back or you’re joining him.” Everyone’s attention was on Jason and the gun. The massive problem was that everyone assumed the Joker was dead.

The man’s eyes snapped open, bloodshot from internal bleeding but he could still see what a golden gift this was. Joker was being held in Batman’s arms, two bird-brats in the room with a bomb with some random brat looking miserable. "This is perfect! We’ll go out like one big happy family!" He screeched, diving for the switch on Jason's vest. 

The world switched to slow motion, who would survive this came down to the millisecond. 

Dick had always been the fastest amongst them, but the drugs still made him sluggish. He couldn’t do anything about the bomb but he could do one last good deed. Tim was pulled into his brother’s arms with one last hug to protect him from the blast. No matter what happened, Tim would live.

The direction of the gun moved, ready to blow the clown's brains out once and for all. Jason pulled the trigger. 

Bruce readied a single batarang and for a split second, all he saw was a man with a gun. Batman won and Jason _ lost. _

There was a splatter of red and his second son was lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. The killing bullet was thrown off and landed harmlessly into a wall. He was curled up and clutching at his throat, misery and hate overflowing like the blood between his fingers. Dick was at his side in a heartbeat and was met with a slash across his chest. A white-knuckled grip held onto the knife, Jason would rather bleed out than be touched by one of  _ them. _

Tim was the only one that he didn’t greet with violence, letting him get close enough to use a WayneTech compress. It would stop the bleeding on contact, hopefully it would be enough for now. The teen was speaking to him with tears in his eyes, holding his hand tight but the sound coming out was nothing more than a dial tone. 

All Jason could hear was that laughter, this time louder than it ever was. And this time it wasn’t just in his head.

Joker was cackling and clapping, the price of admission was astronomical but the show was _incredible._ The dead Robin all grown up and murdering people, everyone hates each other, and Batman still loved him best of all. Just look how he almost killed one of his babies to save him. "Oh Bats, I love you too! You found a way to win, and everyone still loses!" He laughed until his sides hurt, the constant noise stopping for a moment he could look over at Jason’s pathetic form. Then he laughed even harder.

Even Dick looked over at Bruce in horror, there was no way to sugar-coat this. He could’ve killed Jason.

Bruce felt like he was going to vomit. At that moment, his brain couldn’t see a difference between Jason and  _ Joe Chill _ . Nightwing knocked the Joker out before someone else shut him up permanently. 

"I knew it." Said Jason, the words coming out as a gurgle. Each word pulling at the bandage on his throat but he didn’t care if he bled right through. His eyes were wet with tears. "I knew it the moment I woke up. You'd rather risk killing me than hurt the clown." It was so awful it was almost funny.

“I hate all of you.” Jason said, his voice croaking as he got to his feet. He was in no condition to fight and Tim was desperately urging him to lie down, pulling on his arm but Jason dragged him along like a man possessed. Blood seeping through the bandage and staining his shirt. “I should’ve shot you at the theater, blown up your stupid car-!” There was a desperate urge to flip that switch and detonate, like a wild animal chewing its leg off to get out of a bear trap. But there was a pair of arms wrapped tight around his waist, trying to reach him with a touch when words couldn’t. 

If Jason could just hold on for a little longer, there was a place for them in this world. He tried to make the teen leave, shut the door and keep walking but he wouldn’t budge. As much as he hated them and this rotten life, there was no way he could without turning him into collateral damage. He wanted to scream and fight, but he couldn’t without hurting Tim. He didn’t want him to cry anymore. Anger couldn’t be his release valve, so the pain, the hate, the misery flooded his system until the speedometer looped back around to zero. Jason just shut down. 

He didn’t talk, not even a murmur of protest when they took away his weapons and gear. A silent mannequin that let others do what they wanted with him. Hands cuffed in front of him like a common criminal. Bruce made short work of the bomb, a few snips and the last few charges fell to the floor. That voice was still ringing in his ears.  _ Deadbird isn’t here right now, but if you’d like to leave a message~! _

As they moved him out of the room, they could hear singing. They thought it was a recording at first, the voice came in smooth and crystal clear as it echoed off the walls. It was that kind of low, morose kind of country song that wouldn’t be out of place in an old church or a chain gang.

The sound stopped when they approached the elevator, Scarecrow had found a megaphone and was between them and the exit. Bruce had beaten the man black and blue, he shouldn’t even be standing.

Scarecrow dropped the megaphone and ran another direction deeper into the basement. He wanted them to chase him and chase they did, following him to where he first met the Red Hood. The door was already wide open and the sparse space consisted of a record player, a bed, a heart monitor, and dozens of barrels filled with something Crane called it Formula 11/01, for the day after Halloween. 

It was the day all the beauty and good in the world was steamrolled over by a fat man in a red suit. But this was not any fear toxin they had ever seen before, this was just poison. 

Crane scrambled on top of the pile of barrels and out of Batman’s grasp. Each step overturning a year’s worth of dust and crunching dried flowers under his boot. Whatever color they had once been, they were brown now. 

It was a failed experiment. The chemical reaction went awry and Crane accidentally invented a gas that liquified the soft tissues of the nose and lungs. The only subject that had ever been exposed to it immediately started coughing up blood and expired within minutes. It was quick, brutal, and absolutely revolting. Like Oppenheimer before him, he loathed his creation and made an anonymous donation to the victim’s family. The notes were buried and he never intended 11/01 to see the light of day again. 

This was before he found out that Edward had only days to live.

The moment the man’s heart stopped, it was going to set off a chemical bomb to the tune of  _ Kansas Remembers Me Now.  _ Edward would die peacefully, in a tomb filled with machinery and flowers. Crane and everyone in a two mile radius would not. The rapid stockpiling of chemicals was what drew Jason’s attention from overseas and started this whole chain of events. This was the tragedy he worked so hard to prevent. 

The detonator had been removed ages ago but Crane had a taser. The electric current would be enough to set off the chain reaction to convert it from a liquid to his poison gas. Only one barrel would burst instead of the bunch, but that was enough. This was the last card to play.

Batman barked something at him but he didn’t care, his focus was on the Red Hood. He had never seen him without at least a domino but he still recognized the man with a glance. Tim’s presence here confirmed that the Bat could not win without threatening the man’s mate. Crane gave his injuries a once-over, commenting that Jason looked even worse than he did. Less wounded, yes, but man’s trauma was palatable. “You have weighed Batman’s heart against the feather of Ma’at and found it lacking. A pity, but not a surprising one.” 

Scarecrow tilted his head as he stared, fixated on the color of the man’s eyes and for a moment, Jason thought he recognized him as the second Robin. His eyes were green and somewhere in the drugs and delusions, he saw a young man with his stitches and his father’s gears. “I would rather see my son dead than at the mercy of the Bat or Arkham.” 

Jason furrowed his brow, something wasn’t right. He never called him _ that _ before. This wasn’t his usual Scarecrow schtick and melodramatic dialogue. He was gibbering nonsense and there was an odd twitch to his hands. “You’re high as a kite.” He realized. 

The taser crackled and Jason stepped forward, speaking to the man behind the mask. “Setting that off will kill everyone in this building and the hospital nearby. Nobody wants this, hell,  _ you  _ don’t even want this. You just want it to stop.” The man was scared and drugged out of his mind, but he was not the same man he was over a year ago. “You’re not a mass-murderer, you didn’t become one then, and you don't have to become one now. I would really like to talk to Jonathan now please.”

All he could see before was his enemy and the mutilated corpses of the two people he cared about. The idea of so many innocent lives lost hadn’t registered. His fear toxin killed people, but it was kept to an acceptable percentage of loss. This would slaughter the remaining soldiers in the building and Tim Drake, the person he had promised to treat with the same care that Mr. Hood gave Edward. 

The death toll was too great.

He took his mask off and sat down on the drum, his legs hanging over the side. There was no way he could face any of them in this life or the next if he pulled the trigger. His glasses were pulled out of his pocket and put back on. His pupils were blown wide and a line of red was running down his nose. He looked lost. The sane part of his brain knew that Mr. Hood was absolutely right, he just needed to get the rest to agree. 

He glanced over to the vigilantes before turning back to Jason. “They’ll ruin you, butcher you like Sunday dinner as they had done to so many others.” He took a deep breath, turning the taser over in his hands before adding “If I let them go, my debt to you is paid.”

Jason visibly relaxed and smiled, Jonathan was back in control. “I’m cool with that, though I might need to take a IOU on board-game night.” 

“That is understandable, you are welcome anytime.” Jonathan handed him the taser, sadly he was going to be in a world of hurt when those painkillers wore off. He hopped down from the drum, he would need to find a comfortable space to collapse before then. Jason reminded him that there was something here a lot more valuable here than weapons or chemicals, Crane needed to grab his Green and the hell out of here. His people would give him a ride as Crane was in no condition to drive.

“He can rest in his cell.” Batman offered, his arms crossed over his chest.

Jason wouldn’t have it. “I know it sounds weird coming from me, but sometimes violence isn’t the answer. Dude’s officially retired now, so if you don’t let him go now you’re gonna find out he’s been pulling his punches all these years.” There was nothing more dangerous than a man with nothing left to lose and nothing to live for. Their stand-off continued until Crane very discreetly escaped out of a window.

When Crane was gone, Jason touched the taser to one of the barrels.

And nothing happened. 

He did it two more times for good measure, each time the tiny thing made a  _ bzzt  _ noise. “What? You think the first thing I did  _ wasn’t  _ make the death gas inert? Really? I know you guys think I’m dumb, but  _ Jesus. _ ” He tossed the device over his shoulder. 

“I never thought you were dumb.” Bruce said suddenly, earning him an odd look. “Why didn’t you say anything?!” He was content to let everyone think he was going to set off a chemical bomb. 

Jason’s reasons were simple, “Doc needed to know that no matter how bad things got, he was still strong enough to make the right choice. And  _ you  _ needed to see that he could do it.”

Jason was shoved into the backseat of the Batmobile while the Joker got the honor of being shoved into another trunk. He noticed that the computerized sedative set-up looked awfully familiar. 

Unsurprisingly, Tim took the backseat and rested his head on his lover’s shoulder. It wasn’t fair seeing him like this, Bruce had spared no effort in using every restraint they had on the man. Jason looked miserable. “Are you sure you don’t want to add a layer of concrete too? I think he might still be able to breathe in that.” Tim snapped when Bruce added a layer of duct tape on top of a metal ankle brace. He hadn’t even fought them since his throat was cut. 

Jason spoke before the man could snap at Tim, “I just need a cigarette, they're in my top left-hand…  _ your _ right hand pocket on my belt.” He nodded towards the pile of his stolen gear.

Bruce refused.

He groaned. “I swear it's not a bomb or anything, I just need a smoke.”

“I know, I'm still not getting you one.”

“You haven't changed at all, still every inch the bastard you've always been.” Bruce couldn't even spare the tiniest of comforts on one of the worst days of his life. 

“That’s not-” He started.  _ I’m not doing this to hurt you.  _ His second son had a hole in his throat, nicotine was the last thing he needed right now. “You’re better than this, Jason.”

_ “Fuck off” _

He could never say the right thing around his son. Both of them were speaking English, but they used entirely different languages. 

Years ago, Bruce would catch him taking drags while he watched the city skyline or when he was out on patrol. He would even find butts somewhere on the grounds but he could never find out where they were coming from. “When you were living in the manor, how did you keep sneaking in cigarettes?”

That got Jason’s attention, “You never figured it out?” A dark eyebrow raised in interest as Bruce shook his head. 

“Shoved the entire carton right up my asshole.”

Bruce frowned, for a brief moment he thought they were getting somewhere. 

“You’ve waited up long, I’ll tell you on your deathbed. Give you something to look forward to.” The door was slammed in his face and Batman started the car. As they drove along, he realized they weren’t going to the GCPD.

“You’re not arresting me?” He asked, craning his neck to see where they were going. He doubted the old man was going to fit him for cement shoes with Dick and Tim in the car, but stranger things have happened. Something about the curve of the road in the dark seemed familiar. Narrow city streets gave way to grass and trees. 

“Not yet anyway, there’s someone that begged me to see you.” The car took a long driveway up and saw the house. Alfred was waiting for them at the door. 


	13. The Long Way Home

The manor looked exactly the same as Jason remembered, from the ornate wrought-iron gates to the dainty flowers lining the path up to the house. It was hard to describe the feelings welling up in his chest, he wasn’t afraid of prison or Arkham but the idea of standing here again bothered him. Sometimes he forgot that people were actually allowed to live there, and that it wasn’t a museum piece propped up over the gaping maw of the cave.

The reminder came from Alfred pulling him into a hug the moment he was within reach, his arms held him so tight he thought the old man was going to burst into tears. The years, the grief, the pain was all wiped away in an instant. His grandson was  _ alive _ . The boy he knew had grown into a man almost as tall as Bruce and as strong as an ox. There were a lot more scars than he remembered. 

There were faint lines on his forearms from a knife fight a few years back and there was an odd line where his nose had been broken. Tanned skin bore the writing from almost a decade worth of stories that he knew nothing about. A wrinkled hand touched Jason’s face and he could see the Red Hood for what he was; a mask his grandson used when there was dirty work to be done. “I knew it was you, I knew you’d never hurt Barbara.” He suddenly asked, “Do you still drink coffee?”

Jason smiled at that and replied, "Of course."

“Good, and I can bake us something to go with it.” He had picked a fresh batch of blueberries that morning and it wouldn’t take long to whip up a pie. They could even have bacon cheeseburgers while they waited for it to bake. He asked everyone to get cleaned up for supper before he scurried off into the kitchen.

Bruce sighed, he had a feeling that his hospitality would keep going until a certain-someone was moved back into his old room. Leave it to Alfred to welcome him home like nothing happened, hand-waving away all of his sins in an instant if it meant he’d be home for Christmas. "...Alfred, we don’t have time for this." 

Meanwhile, Alfred was already chopping up a pile of potatoes for homemade steak fries. “Oh shush, let him be home for a little while.” He didn’t see any harm in it. Was it really such a terrible thing to be together as a family for a few hours?

Jason glanced back towards the batmobile, knowing what was locked inside. It wasn't something anyone should leave unattended. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to keep the Joker in the trunk? Here, of all places?”

“He’ll be fine.” Bruce assured him, completely confident in his machine but his second son wasn’t convinced. Wasn’t  _ he  _ supposed to be the responsible one here?

At least he agreed that getting clean was a good idea. They were tracking in construction dust and patches of dried concrete came off the pair’s clothes in chunks. There was probably enough dried blood on Jason’s clothes alone to get him classified as a biohazard, not that he would be surprised if the Joker’s blood contained some flesh-eating bacteria. 

An unspoken agreement appointed Tim as his official handler, like he was a wild animal that would snap without someone there to hold the leash. Jason could use his shower and he led the man upstairs with strict instructions not to let him out of his sight. 

The moment the door snapped shut, Jason was already out of his cuffs and rubbing his sore wrists. They could hear an argument fire up downstairs and it was hard not to just bail out the window. “Nice to know some things never change.” He grumbled. 

The bedroom wasn’t much to show off. Posters and photographs filled up the walls between bookcases. A set of action figures were frozen mid-battle with an army of robots made from computer scraps. A broken shelf was propped-up with rulebooks for tabletop games he rarely found time to play. Tim was worried he’d think it looked childish, but he at least hoped his room could be a sanctuary. He offered to help with his armor, but Jason refused.

Tim was left sitting on the bathroom counter while Jason undressed behind frosted glass. Shedding each piece of dirty clothes and hanging them over the side of the shower, the fabric turned stiff and crunchy. A fresh outfit was folded up on the teen’s lap, it had been nicked from Bruce’s closet.

Tim could only see the blurred outline of his body and the inviting color of bare skin, but he still felt like a voyeur. The water was turned up burning hot, steaming up the mirror as the teen shed his jacket. He could almost see the lines of water running down the man’s body. There was only a few feet between them but Jason still felt like he was miles away. Tim broke the uncomfortable silence by asking, “You’ve been through a lot today, how are you holding up?”

Jason was scrubbing the filth from his skin, hoping to wash away the noise in his head. "I’d be lying if I said that you didn’t save my life tonight. More than once." He stopped, not sure how to put the mess in his chest into words. “I feel like… A teacup, I guess? Like I’m going to shatter into a million pieces at any minute.” Having Tim there helped, kept him grounded when his good sense wandered off. "How's your chest?" He asked, changing the subject.

Tim pulled his knees onto the counter and held them there. A lot of walls around the man’s heart had been shattered and he could only hope it would do more good than bad. It made sense that it would take time for the dust to settle. "Getting better every day." This small talk was painful. 

He raised his head to add, “And before you say anything about staying away because of ‘guilt by association’,  _ don’t. _ I’m not ashamed of you, I still love you Jay.” If he needed a shoulder to cry on, someone to talk to, he would be there. There was a moment of silence as Jason watched him through the glass, deciding something. 

“I love you too, Tim. You mean the world to me.” His tender voice was almost lost in the sound of the water as he turned it off and wrapped a towel around his waist. The plush fabric covering from the line of his hip down to a few inches above the knee. It was now or never. He stepped out of the shower, saying “This is the other reason I don’t take my clothes off; the  _ second _ least sexy thing in the world.” He tried to brush it off with a joke and a smile, but Tim saw how he hesitated. There were a lot more scars than just on his arms, almost as much as there was skin.

There were countless lines from bullets and blades, relics from a million fights and there were even signs of torture. Tim touched his arm, his fingertips tracing the waves of a burn down his bicep. Barely touching it as if too much pressure could cause him to relive the pain. ‘ _ Consistent with surviving an explosion’,  _ Tim noted as if there was any doubt left of who this man was. He could spend hours studying the marks and trying to piece together the story of his life, but he wanted to spend ten times that kissing each one and making him feel beautiful. 

Tim wasn’t afraid of him or even disgusted by his dings. “Join me.” He said suddenly, as if he could hear the thoughts swirling in Tim's head. 

“What?” He said, confused as Jason took his hand and pressed it over his heart. Letting him feel the dull thudding just under the skin.

“Why don’t you ditch that bastard and work with me? Be my Robin? We’d be partners,  _ equals  _ every step of the way and you've proven that you already surpassed him.  _ You _ were the one that found me,  _ you  _ figured out the truth.” He could make Tim so happy if he would just make that leap into his arms, if he was just given that  _ chance _ . “I'm not asking you to cross the line for me, I would never ask you to do  _ anything _ you’re not comfortable with. Don't you think it's time they stopped holding you back?” 

Instead of answering, Tim pulled him down into a kiss. His fingers were tangled in Jason’s wet hair and strong arms wrapped around his waist on instinct. It was slow and sweet, a reminder that this is where they belonged. The teen didn't want a pedestal or a jewelry box full of diamonds, he wanted the person he loved to be happy and healthy. There was another nip against soft lips as he said, “Jay… It doesn’t have to be one side versus the other, they’re my family and they’re yours too.” 

Jason held him close and buried his face into the crook of his neck, wanting to hold onto this shred of happiness for a long as possible. “No, they're not. All of us are replaceable. That's what happened to Dick, to  _ me _ , and do you think Bruce won't throw you to the wolves if he thinks you’ve 'turned'? The man’s nothing but poison to this city and everyone he comes in contact with.” 

“You don’t have to be besties or anything, but I have to stop you if you try to hurt them again. Besides, wouldn’t you rather spend time with  _ me _ rather than silly ol’ Batman and Nightwing?" He added with a mischievous smile as they made a deal. Hurting the family was the line in the sand that he had to respect, and Jason could swallow his hate if it meant keeping Tim like this.

Their lips met again, more demanding this time as Jason deepened the kiss. The hard edge of the counter dug into Tim’s back as a warm body pressed against his. Broad hands drifted down to his hips and rolled them together, feeling a firmness that wasn’t a batarang in the teen’s pocket. A pleased sigh escaped from Jason’s mouth. “You know, I’m beginning to think you had an ulterior motive inviting me to your room.” A hand pressed between Tim's legs before he could reply, grinding his palm over the incriminating bulge. 

Tim squeaked in surprise as he started fondling him through dark blue designer jeans. “Naughty boy didn't bring me here just to show off his action figures. He wanted to get fucked." There wasn’t a whisper of protest as Jason pushed his hand into his underwear, wrapping a calloused hand around his length. He stroked it and Tim rocked his hips into the touch, getting off on his lover’s fist.

_ “Jason...”  _ He purred, tilting his head back to let the man claim his throat. Teeth pressed against sensitive skin as he was given a fresh set of marks. Tim moaned at the feeling. He missed this, missed  _ him  _ so much. “Didn’t I promise you kisses if you didn’t-?” How close the man came to suicide was the last thing he wanted to think about right now. “I mean, if you don’t want to-” He added and Jason smirked, pulling away just enough to let the towel drop to the floor. It fell into a puddle and left him completely naked. The man practically growled the words; “Trust me,  _ I want to _ .” 

Tim bit his bottom lip at the sight of those luscious thighs, his eyes following the line of dark hair below his navel to the apex of his legs. The man’s body was a thing of beauty, half-hard and all his. A brief thought flickered back to the hospital, the idea that he was still drugged out of his mind and all of this was a fever dream. If it was, he didn’t want to be woken up. 

Tim led him by the hand back to his bed, pushing Jason down on top of dark blue sheets before climbing on top of him. Jason looked so good like this, sprawled out on his back and laid out like a king waiting to be served. “Okay then,  _ kiss me. _ ” He ordered and Tim was more than happy to obey. 

There was no armor to get in the way this time and he couldn’t wait to explore every inch. He started with his lips, a quick kiss before mapping his body with his mouth. He traced the lines of his chest with kisses tasting soap as he ran his tongue over a firm pectoral. Each scar was given affection and he even left a few hickies of his own, wanting to leave good memories to balance out the bad. 

Jason looked serene, eyes closed and utterly relaxed as he enjoyed the undivided attention. His breath slightly fast as Tim took a sensitive nipple into his mouth, suckling on it as the teen’s hands went low to roam over his hips. He didn’t care in the slightest about the dampness seeping into his clothes. The body underneath him was burning hot.

A dark eyebrow was raised when Tim stopped and sunk down to rest his head on Jason’s thigh, his lips slightly parted. Their eyes met in a silent plea for permission and Jason gave in, spreading his legs so the teen could do whatever he wanted.

Tim nuzzled the hair on his lover’s thighs and kissed a jagged scar near the femoral artery. Mouthing delicate skin, blue eyes flicked up to see the man’s thick cock standing proud above dark curls. He sucked hard enough to leave a mark and saw a wet bead of precum leak down the tip. The sight turned him on.

There was something that he wanted to try for a while and he  _ supposed _ it counted as a kiss. Tim’s hand wrapped around the man’s length as he gave him a few experimental pumps. The skin was silky and warm, the organ too girthy to let his index finger and thumb meet. It was still as thick as he remembered and it was hard not to think of the last time it split him open. The slight wetness left his hand sticky. Tim tucked his hair behind his ear and leaned down to give it a taste. 

He flicked his tongue from the just under the crown up over the slit a few times, the touch lingering before he leaned down to do it again. His tongue was almost rough as a cat’s over his heated skin. Jason made a noise of approval as he sucked on his pulse, leaving wet kisses as he thrusted his length over Tim’s soft lips. The tip left a sticky line smeared across his cheek.

A hand was curled in Tim’s hair as the rod was guided past his lips. The size was more than enough to fill his mouth, he held back his gag reflex as it pressed against the back of his throat. Tim gave a deep moan. There was something about the taste of his sex that made him drunk and his hand stroked what wouldn’t fit.

Tim took what was offered to him, his head bobbing between those toned thighs as he sucked. His mouth was so hot and wet, he was practically drooling around the shaft. 

“Oh,  _ babydoll... _ ” Jason moaned, throwing his head back when the sight was becoming too much to bear. Even with his eyes closed he couldn’t block out the sounds of an eager mouth or the soft whimpers Tim made as he enjoyed his ‘treat’. His hands clenched the sheets as Tim drank his precum, holding back the urge to simply grab him by the hair and and fuck his throat. 

“Tim, If you don’t stop, I’m gonna-” He panted breathlessly, almost losing it when he looked down at his cock disappearing behind those pouty lips as Tim took him down to the hilt. The teen pulled away for a moment to say, “It’s okay Jay. Let go for a little while.” His lips were red and shiny from the man’s favorite lip gloss. He put the man’s hand on the back of his head and took it back into his mouth.

Jason started to move, bucking his hips onto that heat and feeling the tip hit the back of the teen’s throat. If Tim was feeling any discomfort, he certainly wasn’t showing it with how he purred around it. It wasn’t long before he buried himself in deep and came with Tim’s nose pressed into his curls. A few lazy thrusts and he spilled every drop of hot, sticky cum into his mouth. His cock twitched under Tim’s tongue as he swallowed. The sensation was so intense, a few tears threatened to fall from sky blue eyes.

When his throat was clear again, Tim wiped off some cream that ran down his chin with his thumb and licked it clean. He had been so  _ good  _ and he hadn’t even touched himself once. The teen was achingly hard and he started tearing off his clothes, leaving them wherever they fell as he climbed onto the bed. Clumsy hands dug around in his nightstand and Jason caught a glimpse of a pink vibrator. Tim offered him a bottle of lube, asking “Please?” as if Jason would even think of refusing.

Green eyes flicked up to a clock on the wall. He didn't think he had time to do this proper, but then he remembered that he didn't care. Anyone that dared to interrupt would do so at their own risk. Their positions were swapped with Tim on his back, propped up with pillows with his lover nestling between his legs. Glossy lube coated his fingers as they pressed against his entrance. They started with two.

Tim pressed his cheek into the bed, trying to muffle the sounds of his pleasure as Jason scissored him. All he could think of was how badly he wanted the man inside him. The tight ring of muscle took him in straight to the knuckle. There was a touch of cool silicone just below his balls before Jason turned the vibrator on. He covered his mouth with both hands to hold back the scream. 

Jason teased him with it, tracing his perineum and letting the teen’s cock feel the rumbles before he pushed it inside. He could feel the deep vibrations through the base and it nearly made his hand go numb, he could only imagine how it felt on Tim’s inexperienced body. 

Tim was moving his hips in time with it, secretly hoping and hating the idea of it touching ‘that place‘ inside him. He didn’t want to cum like this, not on silicone and plastic. A dribble of cream leaked out of Tim’s cock and spilled onto his stomach, Jason flicked his tongue over the salty mess. Babydoll was so close now. 

Tim’s hand grabbed onto his wrist, stopping him from moving that wonderful- _ awful  _ thing inside him. “Jay, I want you inside of me. Want to feel you-  _ ah! _ ” His words were cut off by another jolt of pleasure.

“What are you saying, babe? I need you to be specific.” Jason was grinning, knowing exactly what he was doing. He wanted him to beg for it.

Tim was blushing, it was so hard to think straight with those hands touching him like this. “You were always my favorite Robin, so  _ please  _ fuck me already.” He almost wept with joy when the toy was pulled out and replaced with something much larger. Tim bit his thumb to keep from crying out at the blissful intrusion, that wonderful mix of pleasure and pain that made him weak in the knees.

Jason held the teen’s knees wide apart as he mounted him, burying his cock in that needy body with a single thrust. This was certainly a pleasant surprise. “Hope I didn’t disappoint.” He teased, pulling almost all the way out before snapping back inside.

Tim clung to him for dear life, his short fingernails digging into the man’s back. He was taking it raw this time, no more masks or paper-thin latex to keep them apart. The idea of Jason cumming inside of him sent shivers down his spine. “Never, the real you is so much better.” He pressed his face into his chest to muffle his whimpers while Jason fucked him into the mattress.  _ That’s it, just like that.  _

The wonderful sensation stopped as there was a polite knock at the door and there was a familiar voice. “Just wanted to say supper’s going to be ready in about fifteen minutes. Is everything okay?” Said Dick, he wasn’t sure what was taking them so long. 

Jason glared at the door with that possessive look in his eyes, he was still balls-deep in Tim’s body when he reached for a gun that wasn’t there. It was a shame he couldn’t shoot him through the door. Instead his frustration had another outlet, grabbing onto slim hips as he started moving again. Fucking him through it as he heard the doorknob rattle. He almost wished it wasn't locked, curious to see what Dickie-boy would think to see his dear baby brother taking his cock like a champ.

There was a noise of surprise and Tim suddenly felt tighter around him. Maybe he enjoyed the idea of getting caught? The teen clenched his hands over his mouth, but Jason wouldn’t have it. "It's okay, let them know who makes you happy." He whispered, nipping at Tim's fingers.

Tim whined, he had to say something before Dick broke the door down and Jason clearly had no interest in stopping. If anything, he was fucking him harder than before. He wanted his Babybird to  _ sing. _

“We’ll be right down!” Tim said a little too loud, too fast. He barely had a second to react as he shoved a pillow over his face to stop the noise as a slow grind into his prostate sent him over the edge. His body went taught as a bowstring as he orgasmed, every ounce of strength trying not to scream Jason’s name across the manor. 

Meanwhile Jason was insufferably smug, trying to tug the pillow away before Tim accidentally suffocated himself. He used it to clean the mess he made on their stomachs and tossed it over his shoulder. Tim called him a bastard when Dick finally walked away, and he rewarded the teen with a deep kiss. He didn’t think it was cruel at all. Tim was  _ his _ Robin, and was just making it a little more official. “You know you love me for it.” He purred, still rocking his hips into his lover’s heat. His body felt even more amazing post-orgasm. 

Tim was left panting and exhausted when Jason finally came, their bodies pressed together tight as he painted the teen’s insides with his cum. A vice grip on his hips held him down until he took every drop. “We should… get dressed.” Tim said weakly, trying to get his head back together after his high. The massive rod was pulled out of his body with a  _ ‘pop’  _ and Jason purred at the sight. That petite ring turned rosy and stretched open, his semen leaking out and staining the sheets. He looked delicious.

“Mmm, probably. But I wanna have my dessert first.” The man’s cruelty would continue.

Tim didn’t know what he was talking about as he was flipped over onto his stomach. Broad hands on his sides pulled him down so he was kneeling over the bed with his ass in the air. “Jay, what are you doing?” He asked, confused and embarrassed by the new position he could only describe as ‘presenting’. 

It felt nice having those hands massage his backside after such rough treatment, easing out any leftover tension in his body. He was spread open as something warm and wet touched a very private place.

Tim gasped when he felt Jason’s tongue lick his opening, his face turning red at the sensation. It was so weird as it was kissed and licked, but for some reason he didn’t hate the feeling. If he hadn’t just came minutes ago, he could get hard off of this. The man’s tongue even pushed inside to make sure he was ‘cleaned thoroughly’, French kissing his ass until he was satisfied. He gave his hole one more kiss before grabbing his clothes.

The teen was so weak, his hands were shaking as he pulled his underwear up. His insides were wet with cum and spit, so of course it was a great time to have dinner with the family. It would be at least a week before his face stopped being red, and he could never look Alfred in the face again. "Do you do this with all of your Robins?" He asked

Jason licked his lips, proud of his work. He was almost tempted to skip dinner and just have Tim on the menu. "Mmm, it's a special team-building exercise just for you." They were going to have a lot of those when he breaks out of prison, the two of them were going to get to know each other very well.

***

They came downstairs with Jason’s arm wrapped around Tim’s shoulders. The two of them were smiling and talking in hushed tones. The teen was slightly annoyed with something his lover did but couldn’t stay mad at him. Dick’s eyes followed them and Jason shot him a glare to mind his own business. The first Robin wasn’t as dumb or naive as some people thought, he could see the way they clung to each other and he didn’t like it.

He had hoped Tim would break it off when he saw what the man really was, but that clearly wasn’t going to happen. Letting Tim be alone with someone that dangerous was one of the hardest things he had to do tonight, but he had to take that leap of faith. If the teen said that there was good in him somewhere, he had to believe it. Hopefully he would be there to clean up the pieces if Tim was wrong. 

With all the people in the manor tonight, the massive banquet table didn’t seem ridiculous for once. Always the patriarch, Bruce was already seated at the head of the table. Jason and Tim sat on one side with Dick and Alfred on the other. Double bacon cheeseburgers were served on fine china and coffee was poured into etched glass mugs. Bruce was still the only person in the world that ate a burger with a knife and fork.

Alfred was the one that started the conversation, awestruck with everything that’s happened over the last few days. “I have so many questions; how did you survive?”

“Ra’s and a Lazarus pit.” Bruce replied, biting a mouthful of fries before the former Robin could speak.

Jason’s eyes narrowed at that but he wouldn’t let that phase him. “Yeah, you’d be surprised that going from being exploded across Ethiopia to suddenly being alive again and surrounded by a bunch of screaming people with guns might be a bit traumatic. It took me a long time to get my head back together.” Edward had a completely different trip through the pit; he was an adult, he was prepped for the experience, and had someone with him the entire time. Edward was  _ dying  _ from a brain tumor _ ,  _ Jason was  _ dead  _ at the hands of a psychotic _.  _ The pit had to do a lot more work shoving that pile of roadkill back into a living, breathing teenager. 

He continued, “Naturally I woke up gibbering mad so Ra’s shoved me into a closet, hoping I’d either croak or get better. I broke out, wandered around the desert, got heatstroke, got shot at. Punched people in a lot of beautiful and exotic places.” He talked between bites off his meal, keeping both elbows on the table in a combination of willful bad manners and bracing for an attack. Dick thought he was so slick hiding his escrima sticks under his jacket, but didn’t need toys to clean the pretty boy’s clock.

“Why didn’t you come home?” Alfred voiced the question that was one everyone’s minds since they found out he survived. 

That one wasn’t so easy to answer and the humor fell from his face. “God knows I tried. God knows  _ I wanted to…"  _ In truth, there wasn’t a home to come back to but he wasn’t going to talk about that. Not here. Not now. Preferably taking that one back to his grave. “Stuff happened.” He explained with a shrug as if he could vaguely gesture at the past five years and end the story with  _ ‘and now I’m here eating burgers with a room full of people I tried to kill. Isn’t life ~weird~?’  _

Bruce was suddenly a lot more interested in what he had to say, setting down his knife and fork so he could fold his hands in front of him. “You killed someone?” He asked, his voice was surprisingly gentle and Jason turned to him with a snarl of disgust. 

"No.  _ That _ came later.” He sneered, and gauging from the looks across the table he wasn’t going to get away without telling that story. 

Jason started fidgeting, talking more to the table than anyone else. “I was stuck wandering around in a country where I don't know the language. I didn't know any Arabic back then and I wanted to do things right, y'know? Be better than the punk that stole tires and broke into houses. I don't even remember what I was doing at the time but there was this news station announcing that Joker had just murdered eight people but it was all okay because 'Batman and Robin are back, baby!' And-" He never told that to anyone, not even Lou, and he was trying so hard to laugh at it. He couldn’t keep the cocky smile on his face. 

It didn’t matter. He didn’t care. Jason never cared about any of that  _ Robin _ or  _ ‘You’re a Wayne now’  _ horseshit. Bruce should be happy that the Joker killed him before he robbed the idiot blind. A week later, Jason would've loaded up one of Bruce’s sportscars full of expensive junk and drove off to LA. Get paid by the truckload as a Hollywood stuntman thanks to his Robin training. 

The only things Jason cared about was himself, his drink, and the pretty girl on his arm. Nothing else, but no matter how many times he told himself that,  _ he couldn’t make it true.  _

It wasn’t the torture, not the bomb blast, the revival, or even eating scorpions in the desert- he could survive all of that. But standing there in that dirt-poor town, so goddamn proud of that jar of change he had because he  _ earned it  _ and now he might be able to find someplace that had a real phone or maybe even  _ internet. _

Months of coughing up shrapnel, months of hiding from assassins, and the only thing that kept him going was the thought of home. Another chance to help Alfred in the kitchen, going to see another show with Bruce.

And then the news came on.

'No, Jason...' The glowing TV seemed to say in his heartache, 'Your family never _really_ loved you.'

'Bruce Wayne's second adopted son died of- _ ah,  _ who the hell cares?' The glowing box replied as he was overshadowed in his own obituary by a rumor that the billionaire playboy was having an affair with a married woman. Nobody would even say his name. 

The birthdays, the holidays, the moments Bruce put his hand on his shoulder and told him how proud he was, it wasn’t real. He was only a replacement. Bruce had a gullible kid-shaped hole in his heart that was Dick left behind and now it was filled again. Having a Robin was a lot like having a puppy; you love them when they’re small and dumb, but you have to get rid of them when they get too big to control.

The man that crippled Barbara and killed him in the same year was still murdering by the truckload. Batman traded him out for someone younger and cuter, someone that wasn’t ‘damaged’ like he was.

That was what killed Jason Todd. 

That night he stole enough money to fill that jar six times over and took the village’s only truck, driving it until it broke. A couple more nights like that and a few broken kneecaps later, he had a Big Mac and a plane ticket. He was used to being angry but then he got  _ mean,  _ and that helped him get very good at his work. It was amazing what he could do when he didn’t give a crap about the lives he had to trample to get there. He imagined that’s how Bruce feels everyday. 

Alfred offered him a cigarette and he lit it with one of the candles on the table, taking a long drag before he spoke again. The old man remembered his brand. "I did come back here once, just to pick up my record collection and some stuff from my parents.” Everything that meant something to him was hidden under a loose floorboard. He had been through enough foster homes to know that all it took was one bad day and he’d be back on the street again. “My room was empty, pictures were gone, and there was a new Robin suit in the cave. So it was just like, ‘why ruin a good thing’ ya know?" 

He could imagine the shitstorm that would’ve been. Jason walking in like ‘Everyone! I’m alive and I’m home!’ while everyone else stares at him like  _ he’s  _ the one that did something wrong. They would be very polite about it of course, right before they ask him to not make a fuss as they put him back in his coffin. 

The reality was that it took a long time for Bruce and Alfred to put the pictures back up, the memories were a knife through their hearts. 

Alfred reached across the table and squeezed his hand, "We're here now, and we have a lot of lost time to make up for.”

Bruce got up and announced it was time for them to go, grabbing his wayward son by the arm and lifting him to his feet. Jason tore his arm away, “C’mon, you’re not even going to let me have pie?” He asked and the man’s face was a hard mask. The answer was ‘no’. 

Bruce didn't want him in his house anymore. 

He was treating him the same way he did any other painful thing he didn’t know how to deal with, get it out of his sight and pretend it didn’t exist. The man probably loved it when he was in that coffin, because at least then he couldn’t call him out on his bull.

Jason looked away in mortified silence for a moment, before turning back to let loose a machine-gun fire of insults and verbal abuse that would make a sailor blush. He ripped into him with everything he had except calling his mother a two-dollar gorilla-faced whore, but no matter how horrible the words were coming out of his mouth, Bruce just stood there and took it. If he was the only person Jason hurt, he’d take anything his son could dish out. He’d let Jason hate him until his dying day if it gave him a shred of comfort. His son had earned that right.

Dick decided it was time to put the cuffs back on before he got physical, but Jason wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of decking the man in front of a painting of Martha Wayne. 

He was loaded back into the batmobile with a few less restraints this time. Bruce had a business card waiting from him when he got out. “I can refer you to Dr. Shondra, she specializes in caped psychology. She knows about us, she can help you.”

Jason rolled his eyes, “A shrink, Bruce? Really? I’m homicidal, not crazy, there’s a difference.”

“I never said you were. The brain is no different than any other part of your body, it gets hurt, it gets sick and there’s no shame in seeking help. You need someone to talk to, and I completely understand if you don’t want to open up to us-”

The former Robin cut him off there. “Do  _ you _ talk to a shrink, Bruce?” He asked, but it sounded more like an accusation. 

The man started muttering some excuse and Jason flicked the card into his face. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”  _ Fucking hypocrite.  _ Maybe he could hit up the same doc Eddie uses, that guy did a good job with him.

Alfred and Bruce were talking about something while they did one last check before they set out. “You can't send me to Arkham with all of your other broken toys!” Jason shouted at them from the backseat, the cuffs were pinching his wrists.

Dick kept an eye on him with his sticks draped across his lap, saying “Yeah, ‘cause you’re just the  _ picture  _ of mental health...” 

Jason responded by telling him in graphic detail what he could do with those sticks if only Bruce wasn't so far up Boy Wonder's ass that he could be used like a sock puppet. 

For reasons Dick couldn't fathom, Tim thought it was a perfect time to get within striking distance of the rabid murderer. Tim was immediately grabbed by the arm, the teen seemed confused as to why anyone might think that it wasn’t safe. "We don't know how long he's going to be locked up, can't I at least say goodbye?" He asked as he was let go.

Jason couldn't stay livid with Tim around and he said in an over-dramatic tone,  _ “Come to the dark side, dearest Timothy, we have pie you’re actually allowed to eat.”  _ Tim laughed and leaned down to give his pet convict one more kiss for the road.

Dick groaned and looked away, trying to occupy himself with literally anything else. The last thing he wanted to see was those two getting cute.

Meanwhile, a tongue entered Jason's mouth the moment he parted his lips. He felt something metal between his teeth and discovered that he was given a wire lockpick.  _ Just when I thought Babydoll couldn’t get any hotter…  _ He thought, enjoying this side of him.

Tim kissed his forehead, his lips lingering on his skin. He said, “Be nice, but don't be a stranger.” They would see each other again soon enough.

The sweet moment was ruined by the sound of a gunshot.

Tim and Dick dropped everything and ran towards the noise, even forgetting the man tied up in the back seat. Jason was left trying to break a lock picking world record with the wire between his teeth. He was  _ not _ expecting to need it so soon. 

Someone was dead.

***

Only one person that knew there was a gun in Wayne manor, because he was the one that put it there.

The weapon had never been used until tonight and had spent most of its existence hidden in the back of a closet, tucked between an old hat and a yellowed photo album. It had been purchased only days after the murder of Jason Todd.

He knew the secret entrances and exits to Arkham that the family used and even found the security code to Joker’s cell. But at some point as he walked down those halls that fateful wintry night, he had hesitated. Perhaps it was his own fear at taking a life, no matter how wretched, or maybe he preferred the idea of the clown serving a life sentence. The Joker would be old and withered, teeth ground to nubs while he had nothing to do but wait to die in a concrete cell. Years passed since there was anyone to hear a joke, and longer since that when he last saw the sky.

He wasn't going to make that same mistake  _ twice _ .

Alfred walked into the cave carrying two plastic containers with a thick slice of blueberry pie. There was one for his grandson, he could only hope Gordon would be merciful enough to let him eat it, and another was for the son that wouldn’t be coming home tonight. 

Bruce was in a fresh Batsuit, an extra layer of armor wasn’t enough to compensate for his wounds but he long since stopped caring about his own safety. He was a portrait of composure as he tightened the straps on his boots but Alfred knew it was only skin deep. Jason’s story at the table shook him to the bone and he was going to take it out on the criminals of Gotham like an alcoholic on a bottle of cheap gin. He wouldn’t be home until at least morning. 

Alfred had hoped to do this more peacefully. 

Bruce walked past him and opened the trunk to check on the Joker. The beast was still drugged out and dead to the world, a few IVs and sensors stuck in his skin to keep him in suspended animation until he was handed off to the state. Alfred stepped in to ask, “Sir, may I have a word with you?”

“You may have many, what is it?” The man's gaze never moved from the computer screen blinking away with medical data until he was handed a manilla envelope. Tearing it open, he found that it was the butler's letter of resignation and a list of potential replacements. Alfred was leaving them and the only thing Bruce could say was,  _ “Why? _ ” It didn’t make any sense.

After everything they’ve been through together; the victories, the losses, all those years- Alfred had been his rock, his connection to a world full of noise and people he didn't understand.  _ Why was he doing this now? _

The old man glanced over to his grandsons, the boys were too distracted with each other to notice anything was amiss. He would only have one shot at this, in every sense of the word. “I wanted this to be as easy on everyone as possible and to avoid any ill effects towards the family, I believe a certain _ event  _ has made my immediate resignation necessary.”

Bruce had no idea what he was talking about. “And what ‘event’ is that? What could possibly-”

“This one, sir.” In a single motion, Alfred drew the revolver and blew the Joker's brains out. 

All of it was too familiar, that ear-splitting bang and the smell of gunpowder and gore. There were panicked shouts around them but Bruce could only stare transfixed at the diseased brains splattered over the inside his car. Viscera dripped and grew cold.

There were no smoke and mirrors this time, no tricks, no miraculous rescue, and not even Karlo could be here tonight. The Joker was dead. 

There were horrified gasps and stunned silence when the others realized what just happened. Jason was the last to look over at the body and the first thought that came into his head was;  _ He looks like Two-Face.  _ The bullet had gone through one eye and that half of his face was lost. "This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, it shouldn't have been  _ you _ ." Said Jason. It was supposed to be Bruce’s hands around that filth’s neck, he was the last person that should have suffered for this.

But the old man didn't agree. "It couldn't  _ be _ anyone else. I hope you’ll forgive me for taking so long. I wasn't there for you. I didn't always understand what you were going through, but I always loved you." No wonder he had to wear that helmet all the time, there was no way he could hide those kind eyes.

"Alfred..."

He gave him the plastic container and a pack of cigarettes. The pearl-handled revolver was presented to him on a white handkerchief, an offering to a ghost he left behind in the sand. The cackling demon that haunted his headstone was gone now, he was free. "Tell me the truth. If I had done it sooner, would you have come home?" 

Jason shook his head, saying "No. It wouldn't have changed anything." He lied and the old man could see right through him. 

Alfred gave a sad smile, "Priority One on the Gotham police’s Most Wanted list, and you still can't fool an old man." He straightened his coat and turned to Bruce, it was time to end this proper. "I would like to turn myself in now."

Bruce couldn't hide behind his mask anymore, the cowl was suffocating. "...I can't…"

Jason interrupted, "Damn right you  _ can't,  _ how are you going to explain to the GCPD how  _ Bruce Wayne's butler  _ killed the Joker? How the goddamn  _ Batman  _ couldn't wrestle a gun away from one seventy-year old man with no previous violent crimes who then kills one of the most notorious killers on the planet?” There was no way he could explain the  _ how  _ or  _ why  _ without giving away his identity, and did he really want a bunch of cops poking around the manor? 

Commissioner Gordon had a lot of faith in Batman but he'd still need more than a corpse, a flimsy confession from  _ Bruce Wayne's butler,  _ and 'Just trust me Jim'. Most people on the force would probably think Batman shot him and blackmailed Alfred to be the fall guy.

"I killed the Joker." Jason said suddenly, glancing around at everyone in the room. He offered one last big lie to top everything off. "You all saw it- Batman, Nightwing, Robin- Batman was shoving the clown in the trunk and I got loose. It was all me." Red Hood had the skills and the motive, they could even say he got a lucky shot. "What's one more body on the pile? And it’s not like I wasn’t going to kill the Joker anyway, Batman couldn’t protect him forever.”

Everyone exchanged looks as they weighed their options as he wiped down the handle with his shirt. Now the only fingerprints were his. 

Dick spoke up first. "As much as I hate to say it, he has a point… And none of us wants to see Alfred die in prison." As sure as sunshine, Alfred  _ would _ die in prison and he doubted it would be from old age. The clown had friends,  _ dangerous ones  _ that would stop at nothing to revenge and it would be a closed-casket funeral. On the other hand, Jason could easily survive against a hoard of crack-addicted juggalos. Hell, he'd probably break out of Arkham a week.

Bruce couldn’t believe what he was hearing, "You can't be serious-"

Alfred agreed and stepped forward, saying “I fully accept the consequences of my actions, I cannot allow anyone else to take the blame for what I have done.” 

There were two votes for Jason taking the fall and two against, it was up to Tim to put the nail in the coffin.

The teen went up to the batcomputer and brought up a map of gang territories with their current standings in Gotham. The Joker had the largest slice of the pie. Dumping the clown’s corpse in front of the GCPD wasn’t the same as him quietly vanishing under concrete. "With the Joker gone, that leaves Two-Face, Penguin, and Black Mask to fight over his chunk of the city’s drug and arms trade. The amount of collateral damage of a gang war on that scale would be catastrophic.” He went on to explain that they had no idea what would happen to Joker's gang without him. 

Would Harley step up and take command or would she be thrown out by her own people? Then who would take control? Would they fight to keep Joker’s territory, adding yet another dose of violence and mayhem to the war, or would they blindly seek revenge?

“All of that could be avoided if we had someone to fill that power vacuum. Let's say there was a newcomer on the scene that just brought Gotham to its knees, someone smart, someone highly skilled with his own code of honor..." His eyes flicked over to Jason and the man stood up a little straighter. 

Tim was speaking their language.

Dick cleared his throat, "Back up here a minute, that would be gift-wrapping a sizable chunk of power and money to the Red Hood's group-" 

"Yes, and  _ away  _ from everyone else. Personally I'm a lot more comfortable handing  _ Jason _ a rocket launcher than someone like Two-face." Tim replied, already plotting the logistics of how they were going to pull this off. The Dead Men were perfectly poised for a hostile takeover, but they would need more manpower to keep it. Drake industries may suddenly get very interested in private security.

Jason grinned, saying "I am a lot better than a coin-flip and a dead clown would really cement my reputation as the baddest motherfucker in Gotham.” As far as the city knows, Scarecrow was dead either by suicide or murder but Red Hood certainly had a hand in it. He made the cops and Batman look like a bunch of morons, and even made the lunatic Firefly heel and play fetch. “It’s three against two Bruce, you’ve been outvoted.”

Batman folded his arms across his chest and said, “Too bad this isn’t a democracy.” But that didn’t change how everyone was looking at him. For the first time, he felt like he was standing in front of a pack of hyenas rather than his own sons. They were willing to fight him on this. Maybe it would come to blows, maybe not. He didn’t want to think that Dick and Tim would be willing to exile him off like a lion past his prime.

He had to ask himself if he was ready to fight all three in this state, physically or emotionally, but Alfred asked him to reconsider before he found the answer. He would gladly turn himself in if it was only his life on the chopping block, but he couldn’t let the city burn along with him. 

They needed him to lie.

“Fine” was the last thing he said for a while, putting his cowl back on and wrapping the Joker in a translucent plastic sheet. No one could say he wouldn’t do anything for his family. 

Everyone got their story straight and Tim donned a pair of yellow rubber gloves to clean out the trunk. Jason’s fingerprints were on the gun and Dick filed off a set of serial numbers so the gun couldn’t be traced back to Alfred. Stray drops of blood leaked onto the floor when he moved the body to another car. It was surprisingly easy to make Red Hood the villain.

***

Jason was thrown down on a tiled floor, the straightjacket made sure he landed right on his face. It added insult to injury after Bruce broke his nose.

Batman was talking to Gordon as two police officers hauled him up against the wall to get his mugshot. Cops and firefighters looked at him in disgust as if to say ‘ _ There’s the man that tried to burn down the city. Tried to kill Gordon’s little girl.’  _ He overheard Batman called him, “One of the most dangerous men I have ever encountered-”

Aaron Cash was on the other side of the camera, making notes on Jason’s height and weight. “Name?” He asked, already knowing he was going to get something stupid like ‘E. Nygma’ or something. These kinda kooks always did.

Jason grinned, he was happy to oblige. “I’m the Red Hood, friends call me  _ John Doe _ . It's short for 'John  _ Don't-fuck-with-me. _ '"

Cash rolled his eyes and pushed the button, temporarily blinding the man with the flash.

And thus began the reign of the Red Hood.

***

That same night, Jonathan was dropped off after a long stretch of highway. The Dead Men gave him a set of civilian clothes and a fresh plaster cast before sending him on his way. He had enough bandages to feel like a mummy. It was a few hours outside of Gotham and he started the journey up a gravel driveway. A mailbox by the side of the road was the only sign that there was anything on this path other than trees. He had never been to this house before but it had been waiting for them for a long time. 

A scarecrow stood guard over the few chickens that still milled about in the yard. A horse grazed dangerously close to a tomato patch. The porch light glowed yellow while a cat named Osiris slept in a perfect circle. The key had been lost in the fight, but the door was left unlocked.

The home was lovely, almost victorian with the occasional touch of the macabre. A preserved slice of a human brain under glass was on display atop black cobweb lace. A rapier hung above the mantelpiece with an empty space where his scythe should be. Underneath it, a block of wood had been measured and was waiting to be carved.

Edward was sitting at the dining room table while a pot bubbled away on the stove. There was no sign of Jonathan and his glass of white wine had long since grown warm. He found comfort in doodling the shapes of beloved molecules on a napkin. Uranium was a favorite.

_ "Would I compare thee to a summer's day? Nay, like uranium my love is."  _ Jonathan had told him once, starting the ‘Green’ nickname.  _ "Feared by all, understood by a few, and immensely valuable to the people that knew what it was capable of." _

The sound of someone clearing their throat told him that he wasn’t alone. “So, um…  _ Do you come here often?”  _ He asked and Edward saw his love, scuffed and wearing his old wrinkled suit. He brought him a bouquet of vibrant amaryllis. 

The redhead was stunned. In all those years, Jonathan had never done anything like that. He was not a public man, or a particularly warm one. "Are you dying?" He asked suddenly and Jonathan frowned.

"I’m  _ trying _ to be spontaneous." He said, setting the delicate flowers on the table and crossing his arms. “They say death changes a man and I know that I’ve never been as affectionate to you as I should have been. We don’t have to hide anymore and I never want there to be a moment where you doubt what you mean to me." The romantic arts had never been his strong suit and he couldn’t promise that he’d be good at it, but he could promise that he’d try with everything he had.

Edward turned a pile of straw into a man and even cut out a safe place in this cruel world they could call  _ Home.  _ It was time he returned the favor. 

Edward kissed his cheek, risking the rare moment of affection to say “You sold your soul to the devil for me, you were there for me when I was having multiple seizures a day. There’s nothing left for you to prove.” He was making paella and invited him over to taste.

“I have no idea what that is, but it smells amazing.” Jonathan surprised him again by wrapping and arm around his waist. So far retirement was better than any heaven Crane heard about in Sunday school, and the best part was that no one had to die to get there.

***

Any criminal with a mask was automatically dumped into Arkham these days, regardless of sanity. The place was a joke and not even a good one. Two months had passed since his incarceration and Batman’s good word kept him in solitary confinement, the big bad bat was afraid he’d start gutting his fellow inmates with a sharpened spork if he was allowed to mingle. Not that he was  _ wrong _ .

Jason felt like a wolf among diseased sheep, with plenty of deserving throats to tear at every turn. While the confinement kept him from hunting, there were still ways to make the time meaningful. He did what exercises he could in his cell and got to know the doctors, so far the staff adored him. 

The man was polite, coherent, and the fact that he hasn’t tried to eat anyone made him a rare gem. There had been two accounts that having an up-to-date library card was a must for staying sane and it was a good opportunity to catch up on his reading. A part of him was depressed that he’d paid better money for worse motels in the past. 

He was having his morning ritual of Jane Austen and oatmeal that tasted like dryer lint, when Cash knocked on his door. He announced, “Hey John  _ Don’t-press-your-luck _ , you’ve got a visitor.”

_ ‘Bruce.’  _ He groaned in his head as he was prepped for transport. It made sense that he wouldn’t be free from that man forever. 

They allowed him a quick shave and dressed him in his finest orange jumpsuit. It wouldn’t do to present their famous inmates in dirty rags. His hands and feet were cuffed before he was led down a brightly lit hallway by a team of armed guards. The visitor area of Arkham looked pristine and new like a picture out of a catalogue. All soft furniture and pastel colors with everything tied together with a fake potted plant. The facade was nothing more than a happy face painted over what was happening inside. It was a prison with a lot more pills, and a little electroshock rather than any kind of mental health facility. Besides, who would believe anything the inmates said? Those people are  _ crazy. _

On the other side of the door was a boy he wasn’t sure he knew. He had met Robin and a few of his other faces but this was the first time he met _Tim Drake-Wayne; boy genius and young CEO._ Tim was dressed in business casual and hid his eyes behind designer shades. His shirt was a deep shade of maroon. The teen had pulled a lot of strings to get here today and greased enough palms to earn a private meeting with the criminal. For once, the city’s corruption was working in their favor. 

He stood to greet him and they shook hands, pretending that this was their first time. Tim had sold them some spiel about ‘supporting efforts to rehabilitate supervillains’ while Jason was tempted to pull him into a kiss.

The couple walked together through the nearby garden for a little fresh air while an armed guard trailed about behind. He was listening to droning from the walkie-talkie affixed to his chest. The island had a constant hum of helicopters transporting patients and staff to and from the mainland. Off in the distance they could see some inmates tending to a vegetable patch. 

Tim wanted to hold his hand but they couldn’t risk being caught. “I’ve been trying to see you since you were locked up, but they kept turning me away. I heard you’ve been doing really well with your therapy. A model patient.” 

Two months suddenly felt like a long time. “Yeah well, I try. I’ve been doing a lot of macrame lately.” 

Tim smiled at him and asked, “Is any of it helping?” 

Jason shrugged and Tim wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t like he could actually  _ talk  _ to anyone here without revealing well,  _ everything.  _ And the teen may have had an ulterior motive than just strolling through the flowers. “I wanted to check on you, and this wall’s also the weakest in the compound.” 

He pressed a button on his watch and the nearby wall exploded from a precise missile blast. The smoke cleared to reveal a military-grade attack helicopter with the Dead Men symbol painted in bright red and white. It was a remote-controlled distraction, intended to fly around as an obvious target while they got away on a stolen supply boat. 

Jason was stunned, he thought the militia would bail the moment the moment he stopped writing their checks. Lou was standing on the bow and signed up to him, “You didn’t give up on us sir, we’re not giving up on you.”

Tim offered up his wrists and a black zip-tie. “Can you really call yourself a Gotham Rogue if you haven’t kidnapped a Wayne at least once?” He teased with a hopeful smile, hoping the man wouldn’t leave him at the altar.

Jason gave him a quick kiss on the lips before teasing, “Aw. You actually think I’m going to give you back.” 

He pulled away for a moment to ask “But seriously, do you really want to do this? People are going to figure out you’re involved with my escape.” He was more than happy to get out of here, but Tim was going to take some serious heat for this.

“So Tim Drake’s dating a supervillain, stranger things have happened.” His pulse quickened as the black tie was tightened around his wrists. Jason slipped an arm around him, holding him close as they jumped. 

Tim was a superhero by night and by day he’s the main squeeze of one of the city’s most notorious kingpins. Both lives overlapped quite nicely. “I know you’re not the monster you pretend to be, and especially not the monster you think you are.”

The Dead Men didn’t know when Jason’s birthday was, so today was as good a day as any to celebrate. The Blue Butterfly had been reclaimed and decked out with tacky decorations. Chunky confetti covered the floor while metal blasted over the speakers. A few soldiers filled balloons or poured drinks, still decked-out in full gear with the festive addition of a party hat or a feather boa. An attempt had been made to jury-rig a flame thrower into something resembling a gas grill with minimal success. They had given up and ordered takeout. A folding table creaked under the weight of tacos and pizza.

Edward Nygma made the cake, it was something complicated with a dozen layers and bled chocolate ganache. A ring on the top was lined with the correct number of candles. Jonathan was at the bar sampling spirits while discussing spirits of a different sort. He would leave the mingling to his charismatic partner. They came purely as themselves.

Dick was confused. Here he was; invited to an un-birthday party for the Red Hood in a room filled with mercenaries and convicted murderers, and  _ he  _ was the one flagged as a security risk. “Who’s the underwear model?” Lou asked, flashing him a disapproving look before checking the guest list.

“I’m Dick Grayson, Tim’s older brother on the Wayne side. I was uh... invited?” He lifted up the brightly-wrapped gift as proof and hoped it was enough to avoid being shot. Briefly he considered offering a friendly handshake but figured it would just be rejected.

Lou had been around Tim enough lately to get the scoop, but it didn’t keep him from messing with the man. He let him through and reminded him that they wouldn’t hesitate if he got within arm’s reach of the Boss. 

Jason was nursing a beer with Tim curled up under his arm like a contented house cat. 

Dick asked Jason, “Can you at least call off the sniper in the party hat?” He pointed his thumb towards the sniper lying prone in the rafters. He kept his sights trained on the hero the entire evening and wasn’t exactly hiding behind the giant banner that said; “Welcome back, Boss!” 

Jason glanced up at him and the soldier saluted. They wanted him to know he was being watched. “Nah.” He said, taking another swig from his drink. They weren’t going to shoot, but Dick didn’t need to know that.

The soldiers didn’t quite understand the context, but they knew the boss hated clowns. Someone gave him a dead clown calendar with each month having a glossy photo of some poor clown being murdered. The current month had the clown being thrown feet-first into a woodchipper, his painted face twisted in horror as gore and glitter was spewed out the other end. It was as gross and tasteless as the title suggested, Jason loved it. 

Lou pulled up a chair and started talking shop. Edward and Jonathan had a seat at the table as consultants while Tim had proved himself as a capable leader in Jason’s absence. If they were going to stay in Gotham, they would need to start thinking long-term and put down roots. 

They had a good foothold in the drug trade and with some work, the Red Hood could have a good chunk of the city’s organized crime under his belt. They would need a permanent base, a barracks, and some kind of training ground for recruits. An ultimatum would be sent out to the city’s the key players; kneel, fuck off, or die. Jason had already started work on a list of recruits, who could be  _ used _ , who needed to be  _ hurt _ . 

“We’d need some kind of front for money-laundering and such.” Lou glanced around the nightclub, it was good but not quite enough. “We could rebrand ourselves as a private security firm.” That would give them carte blanche to wear their gear in the open. 

"You could call it ‘Todd Security’." Nygma chimed in, his grin was the picture of clueless innocence. The three Robins stared at him as he explained, "Like the Sweeney Todd play? Man was horribly betrayed and returned to his hometown years later under a fake name to enact violent revenge. Can't say the shoe doesn't fit."

Jonathan glanced up from his drink, he was half under the table and Edward would be carrying him home later. "You're forgetting the cannibalism and delightful song numbers. I don't recall Mr. Hood doing either of those."

Jason laughed, “I’m keeping the club, I could set up a karaoke night and I'm more of a cunnilingus than cannibalism kinda guy.”

Scarecrow assured him he wasn’t missing anything, “Human flesh is disappointing even when properly prepared and surprisingly greasy.” That earned him a deeply concerned look from everyone else at the table. No one was entirely sure he was joking. 

The partygoers had the privilege of testing a new board game Edward was working on. At one point it turned into a high-stakes challenge to find any game that kept the redhead from winning for the hundredth time. The only way they knocked him off his throne was to either work together or ‘cheat like a motherfucker’ as Jason put it. He certainly put their Robin skills of asinine trivia and slight-of-hand to the test. It was surprisingly enjoyable.

Tim made an offhand comment that he played  _ Dungeons and Dragons _ and the conversation suddenly went dead. The former criminals exchanged glances like sharks smelling blood, and even Jason was looking at him like he just made a huge mistake. Tim had no idea what this weekends were suddenly in mortal peril.

Jason slammed both hands on the table and growled before they could get any ideas, “You’re not allowed to kidnap him to run one of your damn nerd games!” 

There was a disappointed whine from Edward, “But it’s so hard finding a dungeon master...” Jason would be drafted and they could even teach Mr Freeze how to play. 

With that minor crisis averted, the party lasted well into the evening with most of the guests going through various stages of drunkenness. The lights had faded, the crowd dispersed, and a few militia were already cleaning up after themselves. A push broom swept away the confetti. 

Jason and Tim were on the dancefloor, holding each other close as they slow-danced to the radio. Dick snuck past to grab a few things and 'corrected' their waltz, nudging Jason back to fix their spacing. 

He groaned. "Dick. Tim's seen my cock. You don't have to do the whole 'make room for Jesus' crap, the Lamb of God left the building a long time ago."

Dick sputtered and looked over to Tim, desperately waiting for him to say Jay was joking or that it was something innocuous like Tim accidentally walked in on him in the bathroom or something. Instead the teen was blushing faintly and looking over at the man like a desert he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into.

"How long have you two been-?" Active?  _ Intimate?  _ He didn't know the polite way to ask. All he knew was that thinking of his younger brothers like that at all, let alone with  _ each other _ , was skeeving him out. Wait, the man was in Arkham for two months so that meant-

The awful answer came from his formally-innocent youngest brother. "Since day two."

_“Jason!”_ Dick yelled, absolutely mortified. “How could you? I thought I raised you to respect a lady-er, ah… _Tim_.” 

Jason tilted his head in annoyance and confusion, saying “What are you talking about? You didn’t raise me at all, jerkwad. And you leave my slutiness out of this!” The last part was added loud enough for everyone else to hear. 

People were staring at them and Dick shrunk away in embarrassment, leaving the couple alone.

Tim figured he should scold him for that, but it was hard to muster the words while laughing. Instead he pulled the man down into a kiss the man happily returned.

####  Bonus 

  
The table was covered in maps and miniatures as the adventuring party looked over at a horde of goblins. Tim sat behind his paper screen and reminded Jason that he could  _ not ‘ _ roll to seduce the Dungeon Master.’ He took that as a challenge and meant that he had to do it the old-fashioned way. 

Edward naturally played a wizard, Jonathan was something rogue-ish while Victor Fries stared confused at the papers in front of him. “I rolled a four… so I move four squares?” He asked, the electronic hiss of his cryosuit and droll tone of voice gave him an otherworldly vibe. 

Edward was trying to be helpful as he explained, “Your die roll doesn’t have anything to do with your movement. You see your character has a movement of thirty feet per turn so that’s six squares, unless of course you take a dash action-”

This was giving the man a headache. There were entire  _ books  _ of complicated rules and too many strange-sided dice that kept breaking in his grip. In a fit of frustration, he drew his freeze ray and blanketed the table in a burst of cold. Trapping miniatures and a bowl of chips in a block of ice. “I would like to play… a different… game.” He said as Tim was already reaching for a box of Yahtzee. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone that has read this story, your support means a lot. I hope you enjoyed reading this as I have writing it.  
> Cheers!


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